Why was I interested in interviewing Ilse? She is a Belgian economist and one of Europe’s leading scholars in the field of migration economics. She serves as Associate Research Professor at the Department of Economics of Ghent University and is also a Professorial Fellow at the United Nations University Institute on Comparative Regional Integration Studies (UNU-CRIS). Her research focuses on the drivers of migration and immobility, migration aspirations, labour market integration, migration policy, and the increasingly important nexus between climate change, migration, and health. In addition to her academic work, she directs the international CliMigHealth network, which brings together researchers from more than forty countries to study the complex interactions between environmental change, human mobility, and public health. Through a career that combines rigorous economic analysis with a deep interest in human wellbeing and social development, she has become a respected voice in debates about migration, demographic change, and the future of European societies.

This interview is particularly compelling because it moves beyond the often-polarized political debate on migration and explores the subject through the lens of evidence, lived experience, and long-term societal change. Rather than reducing migration to slogans about borders, security, or economic costs, Ilse explains how migration shapes labour markets, innovation, demographic renewal, climate adaptation, and social cohesion. At the same time, the conversation reveals the person behind the research: a scholar whose curiosity was shaped by growing up in a small Belgian village, whose work is driven by a desire to understand people rather than judge them, and whose reflections extend from economics and public policy to empathy, human dignity, and humanity’s shared future. The result is a thoughtful dialogue that offers both intellectual depth and personal insight into one of the defining issues of our time.

I am from a small village of about 3,500 inhabitants in the northwest of Belgium, close to the French and Wallonian borders. It is often considered, and also felt, like a remote place – somewhat disconnected from the wider world.

My childhood was largely carefree, and I really valued growing up in the countryside, especially with the nearby town of Ieper, which has long attracted visitors because of its war history. At the same time, I was constantly reminded of the peripheral nature of where I came from. It was the second–to–last stop on the Belgian railway line, and our dialect is so distinct that people from my region are often subtitled on television. It was also sometimes mocked, with others looking down on it, which could create a sense of inferiority.

Looking back, I think this combination of rootedness and marginality shaped me in important ways. It sparked my curiosity about the wider world and fostered a desire to zoom out – to understand how different places and perspectives connect, and to see things from a broader, global viewpoint.

How would you describe your family environment growing up, and who were the most influential figures in your early life?

I grew up in a close–knit, nuclear family with my parents and my sister, with grandparents and extended family living nearby. In a small village like mine, my world felt quite contained, and family played a central role in shaping it. The people I looked up to most were hence my parents. They were very down–to–earth, humble, and open–minded. They lived by a strong ‘live and let live’ principle, which often went against the more judgmental tendencies you sometimes find in small communities where people are closely aware of each other’s lives. From them, I learned early on not to judge others based on appearances and to approach people with openness and respect.

My father’s life story had a profound influence on me. He grew up in an orphanage, which shaped both his character and the way he related to others. He sometimes found it difficult to express affection, but he showed his care through actions – always standing up for others and helping those in need. He also embodied resilience and a strong sense of responsibility, teaching us the importance of perseverance and moving forward, even in difficult circumstances.

At the same time, my mother shaped me through her strength, ambition, and deep capacity for love. She has always been a constant source of support – the person I could rely on no matter what. But she also experienced a sense of being constrained by life in our small village. Together with my father, she ran a locally anchored business, which made it difficult to leave, even though she longed for something beyond it. Growing up, I think I internalised both her sense of rootedness and her desire to break out, which has influenced how I see my own path.

Were there particular family or cultural traditions that played a lasting role in shaping your values or worldview?

Yes, my upbringing was shaped by a family culture that strongly valued education, effort, and personal responsibility. There was a strong belief – shared by both my parents and grandparents – that you reap what you sow. Doing your best in life was not just encouraged but expected, especially when it came to school.

At the same time, this expectation was paired with strong support. My family invested a great deal in giving us the opportunities to succeed, and there was a shared understanding that hard work and dedication would open doors. I think this combination of high expectations and steady support has had a lasting influence on how I approach both work and life.

What initially drew you to the field you chose to study, and was there a moment when you realized it was the right path for you?

At 17, I had a wide range of interests – from pharmacy and medicine to psychology and biology – and I found it difficult to choose a single path. I have always been drawn to variety, which made the decision even more challenging. In the end, it was a relative who suggested studying economics, pointing out that it would keep many options open and offer strong prospects on the job market. I followed that advice, but for quite some time, I felt like an outsider in the field. It did not immediately feel like a natural fit.

This only started to shift toward the end of my Master’s, after a year on Erasmus in Spain. Choosing electives that matched my interests and focusing on my dissertation on inequality gave me, for the first time, a sense of belonging within the discipline.

My real turning point came when I began working on human migration during my research Master at KU Leuven, which I pursued alongside the start of my PhD at Ghent University. That topic felt like ‘landing’ – it allowed me to focus on people and lived experiences in a way that I had been missing in other areas of economics. At the time, nearly 20 years ago, it was not yet as prominent a field as it is today, but I chose to continue with it throughout my PhD and have never regretted that decision.

Interestingly, it was only after completing my PhD that I fully felt I had made the right choice. Being an economist with a strong interest in transdisciplinary collaboration turned out to be a strength. It allowed me to carve out a distinctive profile, and to engage in work that is both meaningful to me and valued by others.

At what age did you begin working, and what did your first job teach you about responsibility or independence?

I started working immediately after obtaining my Master’s degree, as a doctoral assistant at Ghent University. I probably would never have considered pursuing a PhD had it not been for Professor Dr. Glenn Rayp, who supervised my Master’s dissertation. Although I knew little at the time about what an academic career really involved, I had genuinely enjoyed the process of conducting research during my dissertation and could see myself continuing along that path.

At the same time, the transition into doctoral research was not always easy. A PhD can be a rather solitary journey, and it took me time to grow into the role and to find my own footing as both a teaching assistant and a researcher. It was during those years that I discovered how deeply committed I could be to my work. I felt a strong sense of responsibility toward the people who believed in me, but also toward myself and the standards I wanted to live up to.

What the experience taught me most was how to navigate independence and self–discipline. A PhD is built around long–term goals, often without immediate rewards or clear milestones along the way. There were many moments when I had to motivate myself, regain focus, and keep moving forward despite uncertainty or setbacks. That process taught me resilience, perseverance, and the understanding that meaningful achievements rarely come easily. But it also showed me that the rewards are all the greater when they are earned through sustained effort and personal growth.

How would you describe your current professional role, and what aspects of it do you find most meaningful?

As an Associate Research Professor, my role combines a wide range of responsibilities across research, teaching, and service to the university community and beyond. I teach courses in international economics, with a particular focus on migration, but above all I see myself as a researcher and team leader who supports others in doing research.

That collaborative dimension is also what I find most meaningful. Whether working with bachelor students in the Student Excellence Programme, supervising Master’s dissertations, or mentoring PhD students and postdoctoral researchers, I genuinely enjoy the exchange of ideas. I love brainstorming new research questions, thinking through methodological or conceptual challenges together, and trying to make sense of unexpected findings. Seeing others grow in confidence and develop their own academic voice is one of the most rewarding aspects of my work.

At the same time, I remain a researcher at heart. I enjoy the entire research process – from the first spark of an idea, to designing a study, analysing results, writing, publishing, and eventually sharing insights with broader audiences. What continues to motivate me is the possibility of generating knowledge that helps us better understand people and society.

Beyond research and teaching, I also value contributing to the wider atmosphere and wellbeing within my faculty and university. I care deeply about creating spaces where difficult or important conversations can take place openly – whether around diversity, inclusion, wellbeing, or the ways in which academic environments can become more supportive and humane. I believe that fostering such a culture is something we all contribute to collectively.

How do you reconcile the economic benefits of migration with the rising political resistance and anti–immigrant sentiment in many EU countries?

I think one of the key challenges is that the economic benefits of migration remain a major blind spot in public debate. We know that people’s attitudes toward migration are shaped by both economic considerations – such as jobs, wages, public finances, and the welfare state – and cultural concerns. Yet in many European countries, cultural anxieties dominate the conversation, often far more than the economic evidence would justify.

This is not simply because people are misinformed. It is also because concerns about migration are actively amplified by political and other actors who benefit from framing migrants as a threat. As a result, the information circulating about migration is often partial or inaccurate. Decades of economic research show that the labour market effects of migration are generally small, and in some cases positive. Migration contributes to job creation, productivity, innovation, and economic growth. Yet these findings rarely reach the wider public, or they are quickly overshadowed by claims that portray migration mainly as a cost.

This also has to do with the fact that the public debate focuses disproportionately on a relatively small part of migration: irregular migration and asylum. In reality, the majority of international migrants move for work and participate in the labour markets of their host countries. But when migration is discussed mainly through the lens of control, crisis, and unwanted arrivals, it becomes very difficult to have a balanced conversation about its broader economic and social contributions.

So for me, reconciling these two realities means recognising that evidence alone is not enough. We need to communicate the economic evidence more clearly, but also understand the emotions, insecurities, and political dynamics that shape public attitudes. Migration has real challenges that need to be managed, but reducing it to a threat or a cost misses the bigger picture. The task is to bring that bigger picture back into the debate.

Many taxpayers perceive migrants as a net cost. What economic evidence would most effectively challenge this perception?

The key word in this question is ‘net’. Public debate often focuses only on costs: migrants’ use of public services such as health care, education, family allowances, or the costs of reception systems for asylum seekers and border control. But this is only one side of the fiscal equation.

The other side is that many migrants are young and of working age. When they participate in the labour market, they contribute through income taxes and social security payments, but also through consumption taxes. Their consumption and investment also increase demand for goods and services, which can support job creation and generate further tax revenues.

Beyond these direct fiscal contributions, migrants can also strengthen the economy more broadly. Particularly high–skilled migrants often contribute to innovation, productivity, and business creation. In many countries, migrants are overrepresented among entrepreneurs, adding further to employment and economic dynamism. These effects matter because economic growth itself supports the sustainability of the welfare state.

This is also what much of the evidence shows: in many countries, the net fiscal impact of migration is broadly neutral, and in some cases positive. What matters most is labour market participation. So rather than framing the issue as whether migrants should be kept out, the more relevant policy question is how to maximise their contribution once they are here.

This is especially important in several EU countries, including Belgium, where there remains a significant employment gap between natives and migrants. Closing that gap would benefit migrants, host societies, and public finances alike.

Are welfare systems in the EU inherently vulnerable to large–scale migration, or is the tension more a matter of political framing than economic reality?

EU welfare systems are not inherently vulnerable to migration. The empirical evidence on past immigration generally points to a broadly neutral fiscal impact, or to effects that are small, whether positive or negative, in terms of GDP per capita. This means that the idea of migration as a structural threat to the welfare state is often overstated.

At the same time, the fiscal impact of migration is not automatically neutral or beneficial. It depends strongly on migrants’ labour market participation, their skills, age profile, legal status, and access to employment. When migrants are able and encouraged to work, contribute taxes, and participate fully in society, their net contribution is much more likely to be neutral or positive.

The bigger challenge for European welfare systems is demographic ageing. As populations age and the share of people in work declines, financing pensions, health care, and long–term care becomes increasingly difficult. Migration cannot solve ageing on its own, but it can be part of the response, especially when combined with effective integration, skills recognition, and policies that support employment.

Do EU countries have a hidden economic incentive to accept migrants despite fiscal pressures, such as addressing labor shortages or aging populations?

I would not necessarily call it a hidden incentive, but it is certainly under–acknowledged in public debate. There has never been more labour migration in absolute numbers than today, and yet this reality is often absent from political discussions. While migration is frequently debated in terms of control, borders, and fiscal pressure, many European economies already depend heavily on migrant labour.

This dependence is visible in sectors such as health care, elderly care, agriculture, construction, logistics, and hospitality. In many of these sectors, labour shortages are not temporary but structural. As populations age and the working–age population shrinks, these shortages are likely to intensify.

Migration is therefore not only about filling vacancies. Migrants contribute to tax revenues, social security systems, consumption, entrepreneurship, and innovation. This does not mean that migration is a silver bullet for demographic ageing or fiscal sustainability, but without migration many of these challenges would become considerably more difficult to manage. One of the paradoxes of contemporary Europe is that many economies rely on migration while political discourse often portrays it primarily as a problem to be contained.

How do irregular migrants affect the formal economy, and what are the unintended consequences of stricter enforcement on overall economic output?

Irregular migrants often contribute to the economy, but in ways that remain partly invisible. Many work in sectors such as agriculture, care, domestic work, construction, hospitality, and logistics, but because of their legal status they are more likely to be pushed into informal or precarious employment. This means weaker labour protection for them, but also fewer tax and social security contributions for the state.

Spain is an interesting example here. Its recent regularisation measures have been motivated not only by humanitarian concerns, but also by labour shortages, population ageing, and the need to sustain the welfare state. The idea is that if people are already living and working in the country, regularising their status can help move them into the formal economy, improve their labour rights, and increase tax and social security contributions.

Stricter enforcement can therefore have unintended economic consequences. It may reduce the visibility of irregular migrants rather than their presence, pushing them further into informal work. That can depress working conditions, reduce fiscal contributions, and create unfair competition for employers who do follow the rules. Enforcement also comes with direct public costs, from border control to detention and deportation procedures.

So the question is not only how irregular migration affects the economy, but how irregular status shapes those effects. From an economic perspective, creating realistic pathways into regular status and formal employment can sometimes be more beneficial than investing mainly in repression and exclusion. Spain’s earlier 2005 large–scale regularisation illustrates this well: giving people who were already living and working in a country access to regular status led to higher formal employment, higher earnings, and increased social security contributions – making regularisation an economic policy tool as well as a humanitarian one.

To what extent are fears about migrant–driven unemployment supported by data, and how do these fears influence policy choices?

The evidence is remarkably consistent on this issue. Most studies find that migration has little overall effect on native employment and wages. Where effects do occur, they tend to be concentrated among specific groups that compete most directly with newly arrived migrants, and even then the effects are generally small.

This is because migrants are not only workers; they are also consumers, taxpayers, entrepreneurs, and innovators. Their presence increases both labour supply and demand within the economy.

Yet fears about job competition remain politically powerful because they are intuitive and personally salient. People often experience labour markets through individual stories rather than aggregate statistics. As a result, perceptions can diverge significantly from empirical evidence. These fears frequently shape policy choices, sometimes leading governments to prioritise restrictive measures even when labour market realities point toward a need for more migration rather than less.

How do remittances sent abroad influence host countries’ economies, and why is this factor often ignored in policy discussions?

Remittances are often discussed mainly from the perspective of countries of origin, because they represent an important source of income for families and can contribute to development, education, health, and investment there. But from the perspective of host countries, they are sometimes framed as money ‘leaving’ the economy.

I think this is too narrow. Migrants only send remittances because they work, earn, consume, pay taxes, and participate in the host economy in the first place. The fact that part of their income is transferred abroad does not erase their contribution through labour, tax payments, consumption, entrepreneurship, and the jobs they help sustain.

This factor is often ignored because migration debates tend to be very nationally framed. Policymakers focus on what happens within national borders, while remittances remind us that migration creates transnational economic links. They show that migrants contribute simultaneously to host societies and origin communities, which does not fit easily into a debate that often tries to separate ‘our’ economy from ‘theirs’.

Some argue that high–skilled migrants create net economic gains while low–skilled migrants create net costs. How accurate is this simplification?

Like many simple narratives, it contains a grain of truth but misses much of the bigger picture.

Highly skilled migrants often have particularly visible economic contributions through innovation, entrepreneurship, productivity growth, and high tax contributions. As a result, their economic value is relatively easy to demonstrate.

However, this does not mean that lower–skilled migrants are a net cost. Many sectors that are essential to European economies – including agriculture, care work, food production, cleaning, logistics, and construction – depend heavily on workers with lower formal qualifications. Without them, many activities would become more expensive or simply impossible to sustain at current levels.

The fiscal contribution of migrants depends much more on employment opportunities and labour market participation than on skill level alone. A lower–skilled migrant who is employed throughout their working life may contribute more than a highly skilled migrant who leaves after a short period. Reality is therefore much more nuanced than the high–skill versus low–skill distinction suggests.

How do integration policies, such as language and job training programs, alter the economic trajectory of migrants and their fiscal impact?

If there is one lesson that emerges consistently from the evidence, it is that integration policies matter. The faster migrants acquire language skills, obtain recognition of their qualifications, build professional networks, and gain access to employment, the faster they become economically self–sufficient and start contributing through taxes and social security contributions. Poor integration is expensive. It leads to underemployment, skill waste, lower productivity, and lower labour market participation. Good integration, by contrast, benefits both migrants and host societies. From an economic perspective, integration policies should hence not primarily be seen as costs. They are investments that can generate substantial returns over the long term.

Are EU migration policies driven more by humanitarian considerations or by economic calculations, and how do the two sometimes conflict?

EU migration policies are shaped by both humanitarian considerations and economic calculations, but the balance between the two is often uneasy. On paper, humanitarian principles play an important role, especially when it comes to asylum, protection, and fundamental rights. At the same time, many migration policies are clearly influenced by labour market needs, demographic pressures, and concerns about public finances.

The tension appears when those two logics point in different directions. Humanitarian obligations require states to protect people fleeing conflict, persecution, or insecurity, regardless of whether they are immediately seen as economically useful. Economic considerations, by contrast, often favour migrants who are young, highly skilled, or easy to integrate into the labour market.

This creates a problematic hierarchy between ‘wanted’ and ‘unwanted’ migrants. From a policy perspective, the challenge is to recognise that humanitarian and economic goals do not always have to be opposed. If people are allowed to participate, work, learn the language, and build a future, humanitarian protection can also become economically and socially beneficial over time.

How can economists quantify the long–term societal benefits of migration, such as entrepreneurship, innovation, and demographic renewal?

Economists can quantify some of these benefits, but not all of them easily. Entrepreneurship can be measured through business creation, self–employment, job creation, and firm survival. Innovation can be studied through patents, productivity, research output, scientific collaboration, and the diffusion of ideas. Demographic renewal can be assessed through age structures, dependency ratios, labour force growth, and contributions to pension and welfare systems.

But the challenge is that many of the most important effects of migration unfold over the long term and across generations. The contribution of migrants’ children, the role of diversity in creativity and problem–solving, or the way migration reshapes cities, universities, and labour markets are much harder to capture in simple cost–benefit calculations.

So economists need both short–term fiscal analysis and broader long–term approaches. Migration should not only be evaluated by asking what someone costs or contributes in the year of arrival. We also need to ask what people, families, and communities contribute over a lifetime and across generations.

What lessons can EU countries learn from historical waves of migration about balancing short–term costs with long–term economic gains?

Historical waves of migration show that the short–term challenges are often more visible than the long–term gains. New arrivals may initially require support in housing, language learning, education, or access to employment. These costs are real and should not be ignored.

But history also shows that migrants and their descendants often become deeply embedded in the economies and societies of their destination countries. They fill labour shortages, start businesses, contribute to innovation, revitalise communities, and help shape cultural and economic life. One important lesson is that outcomes depend heavily on policy choices. When migrants face exclusion, discrimination, or barriers to work, integration is slower and more costly. When countries invest early in language learning, education, skills recognition, and labour market access, the long–term returns are much stronger.

So the question is not simply whether migration creates costs or benefits. It is whether societies are willing to make the upfront investments that allow long–term benefits to materialise.

Do EU countries risk creating dependency traps if social benefits are too generous, or is this fear overstated compared to empirical evidence?

I think this fear is often overstated. The idea that migrants move mainly to access welfare benefits is not well supported by empirical evidence. Most migrants move for work, safety, family, education, or better life opportunities – not because of the generosity of welfare systems.

That does not mean incentives do not matter at all. Poorly designed systems can create barriers to work, especially if people lose benefits too quickly when they accept low–paid jobs, or if asylum seekers and other migrants are prevented from working for long periods. But this is not a problem of generosity alone. It is a problem of policy design.

The real risk is not that migrants become dependent because benefits are too generous, but that systems unintentionally prevent them from becoming independent. Long waiting periods, lack of language support, non–recognition of qualifications, discrimination, and restrictions on employment can all delay labour market entry. So rather than focusing on reducing benefits, the priority should be to remove barriers to work and make sure that support systems help people move into stable employment as quickly as possible.

If you had full control over an EU–wide migration policy, what would be the first measure you would implement to ensure migration strengthens, rather than strains, public finances?

My first priority would be to maximise labour market participation among migrants already living in Europe. Too often, migration debates focus almost exclusively on who should be allowed to enter, while paying much less attention to how effectively migrants are integrated after arrival. Yet labour market participation is one of the strongest determinants of migrants’ economic and fiscal contributions.

This would require investments in language acquisition, faster recognition of foreign qualifications, targeted training programmes, and the removal of unnecessary barriers to employment. In some countries, including Belgium, there remains considerable untapped potential because migrants’ skills are underutilised. Before debating how many migrants Europe needs, we should first ensure that those already here are able to contribute to their full potential.

Why, despite clear economic evidence, do political debates about migration often ignore data and focus on perceived cultural or social threats instead?

Migration debates often ignore economic evidence because migration is not only perceived as an economic issue. It also touches deeper questions of identity, belonging, culture, security, and social change.

This is consistent with a large literature on attitudes toward migration, which shows that people’s views are shaped by both economic concerns – such as jobs, wages, taxes, and welfare – and cultural concerns, including identity, social cohesion, and perceived cultural change. But in many contexts, cultural concerns tend to carry more emotional and political weight than the economic evidence would justify.

Political actors understand this very well. Economic statistics are often abstract, while cultural narratives are more immediate, more visible, and easier to mobilise. It is much easier to build a political message around perceived threat, loss of control, or pressure on national identity than around nuanced findings on labour markets or fiscal balances.

This does not mean that evidence is irrelevant. But it does mean that better data alone will not be enough. If we want a more honest debate on migration, we need to communicate the economic evidence clearly while also engaging with the fears, identities, and narratives through which people interpret migration.

Has there been a book, film, or work of art that significantly influenced the way you see the world or think about your work?

Several books have shaped my thinking, but one that stands out is ‘How Migration Really Works’ by Hein de Haas. What I appreciate about it is that it challenges many common assumptions about migration and demonstrates how much of the public debate is driven by misconceptions rather than evidence. In many ways, it captures what I have tried to do throughout my own career: bring nuance to a topic that is often reduced to simplistic narratives.

Another influential author for me is Frans de Waal. His work, particularly ‘The Age of Empathy’, reinforced my belief that cooperation, empathy, and social connectedness are not signs of weakness but deeply human strengths. His work reminds us that understanding others and working together are as important for society as competition and individual achievement.

These works and others have shaped both how I see the world and how I approach my research: with curiosity, nuance, and a desire to understand people rather than judge them.

Looking at younger generations today, what gives you the greatest sense of hope, and what concerns you the most?

What gives me hope is that younger generations are growing up in a far more diverse and interconnected world than previous generations. Many young people encounter diversity in their schools, friendships, workplaces, and online communities from an early age. As a result, differences that once seemed exceptional may increasingly be seen as normal. I believe this creates opportunities for greater openness and understanding across cultures and backgrounds.

At the same time, I am concerned by what sometimes feels like a growing hardening of opinions. Social media exposes young people to enormous amounts of information, but also to polarisation, misinformation, and pressure to take strong positions on complex issues. They are growing up with an acute awareness of major global challenges – climate change, conflict, inequality, political instability – yet the sheer volume of information can also be overwhelming.

My hope is that younger generations will not only remain engaged with these challenges, but also develop the ability to distinguish what truly matters, to embrace nuance, and to stay connected to people whose views differ from their own.

If you could spend a full day with any historical figure, who would you choose, and what questions would you want to ask them?

I find this a surprisingly difficult question. There are many historical figures I admire, but choosing just one says as much about your own interests as it does about them. If I had to choose, I would probably spend the day with Charles Darwin. Long before I became an economist, I was fascinated by biology and by understanding how living systems work and evolve. What I admire most about Darwin is not only the theory he developed, but the curiosity, patience, and openness with which he observed the world.

I would love to hear how he came to challenge assumptions that many people at the time took for granted. More than discussing evolution itself, I think I would be interested in understanding how he approached uncertainty and how he knew when the evidence was strong enough to trust his conclusions. Some of the most important advances in science come from people who are willing to question established ideas and follow evidence wherever it leads.

I would also be curious to hear what he would make of everything we have learned since then – from genetics and human behaviour to the environmental challenges we face today. I suspect it would be a fascinating conversation about both the natural world and humanity’s place within it.

If you were asked to teach a class on a subject completely unrelated to your profession, what would it be, and what would you hope students take away from it?

I would probably teach a course about nature and the living world. Biology fascinated me long before I became an economist, and it remains a source of wonder today. More than teaching facts, I would hope students would develop a sense of appreciation for the extraordinary complexity and beauty of the natural world. We often take nature for granted because it surrounds us every day, yet it is both remarkably resilient and surprisingly fragile.

If students left the course with a greater sense of curiosity and responsibility toward the environment, I would consider it a success. After all, nature will outlast us, but the quality of that future depends in part on how we choose to care for it today.

If you could ensure that one human value is never lost in society, which value would you choose, and why?

Without hesitation, I would choose empathy. The ability to place ourselves in someone else’s position, to see the world through their eyes, is fundamental to how we live together. Empathy does not require agreement, but it does require understanding. It encourages us to listen before judging and to recognise the humanity in people whose experiences may be very different from our own.

I believe many of the divisions we see today – whether around migration, politics, inequality, or identity – would be easier to navigate if people made a greater effort to understand one another. Empathy creates space for people to live authentically and with dignity. In many ways, it is the foundation of the principle I grew up with: live and let live.

Humanity is facing radical changes. To name just ten: geopolitical instability, climate change, economic inequalities, technological risks, public health challenges, political polarization, resource scarcity, humanitarian crises, misinformation, and disparities in global healthcare access. If, in an imaginative exercise, you had the power to solve one of these problems, which one would you choose first and why?

Climate change for sure. Partly because of its scale, but also because it is deeply interconnected with so many other challenges we face. Climate change affects food security, health, economic development, inequality, conflict, displacement, and migration. If left unchecked, it has the potential to amplify many of the other problems that already concern us.

What I find most striking is that awareness of the problem has never been higher, yet our collective response remains far below what is needed. At times, it feels as though societies are engaging in a form of avoidance: we acknowledge the threat, but continue acting as if it can somehow be postponed or solved by someone else. Yet, addressing climate change is not only about protecting the environment. It is about safeguarding the conditions that allow societies and future generations to thrive.

What do you believe human beings owe one another, both as individuals and as members of a global society?

I believe we owe one another care, dignity, and the opportunity to live a fulfilling life. None of us chooses where we are born, the family we grow up in, or the opportunities available to us. Yet these circumstances shape our lives in profound ways. Recognising this should make us more humble about our own successes and more compassionate toward the challenges faced by others.

As members of a global society, I think we have a responsibility not only to look after ourselves and those closest to us, but also to acknowledge our interconnectedness. The wellbeing of others matters, not just morally, but because our futures are increasingly linked. Ultimately, I believe we should strive to create a world in which everyone has the possibility to develop their talents and live with dignity.

Interviews often focus on successes. Could you share something from 2025 that did not unfold as you expected, and what that experience taught you?

Looking back, the most important lesson of 2025 was not linked to a failed project or rejected proposal, but to my own limits.

Like many academics, I am passionate about my work and tend to say yes to opportunities that I find meaningful. Yet over time, commitments accumulate. Grants need to be managed, papers written, students supervised, teams supported, and new initiatives developed. Last year, I realised that I had pushed myself too far for too long, and it took me many months to recover my energy and sense of balance.

The experience reminded me that sustainability matters not only for research projects or institutions, but also for people. Ambition is valuable, but so is recognising that there are limits to what one person can do. I learned that saying no is sometimes just as important as saying yes, and that protecting one’s wellbeing is not a luxury but a prerequisite for doing good work over the long term.

Are there any personal or professional goals you feel comfortable sharing for 2026?

My main goal for 2026 is not so much to start many new things, but to bring existing projects to a successful conclusion. The past few years have been exceptionally productive. I completed my own book `Vloedgolf?’ (translated: ‘Tidal wave? The complexity of climate migration untangled’), co–edited a volume, secured research funding, supervised a growing team of PhD students and postdoctoral researchers, and continued to develop ongoing projects. I am proud of what has been achieved, but I have also become more aware of the importance of pacing myself.

Professionally, I feel that 2026 will be something of a turning point. I want to bring several projects that were started some time ago to a proper conclusion, and then create the mental space to let new ideas mature. Many ideas have been building in the background, but I do not want to rush into them too quickly. I would rather take the time to think them through carefully, and to make sure that the next steps I take are meaningful, sustainable, and aligned with the kind of work I really want to do.

On a more personal level, I want to continue finding a healthy balance between ambition and wellbeing – for myself, my family, and the people I work with. Over the years, I have learned that success is not only about what we achieve, but also about how we achieve it. I want to remain ambitious, but without losing sight of the things that ultimately matter most.

When you imagine the final moments of your life, what kind of news would you most hope to hear, and why?

It may sound like a cliché, but I think my answer would be that the world is finally at peace and that climate change is under control. Both aspirations reflect a simple wish: that future generations inherit a world that is safer, fairer, and more sustainable than the one we live in today. Throughout my life and work, I have been interested in the forces that connect people across borders and shape opportunities for human flourishing. Peace and environmental sustainability are perhaps the two most fundamental conditions for that to happen. Knowing that humanity had managed to address those challenges would leave me with a sense of hope that the future is in good hands.