What the spread of the “great replacement” conspiracy theory means for humanitarian aid

An opinion piece written by Umberto Pellecchia, anthropologist and qualitative research advisor for LuxOR, the Operational Research Center of Médecins Sans Frontières Luxembourg.

Original text published in English in the journal 'The New Humanitarian' on July 24, 2025

One of the most persistent and influential narratives pushed by right-wing populists across Europe is the so-called “great replacement” conspiracy theory. At its core, this idea claims that migrants – especially from Africa and the Middle East – are being deliberately brought in to replace native populations. The conspiracy theory suggests that they are exploiting welfare systems, grabbing jobs, and threatening the supposed cultural or racial purity of European nations.

Overnight, essential services for migrants were shut down. Foreign staff were kicked out. Local workers faced threats. While Libya has long been a tough operating environment for NGOs, this crackdown followed a noticeable rise in hate speech and “replacement” rhetoric earlier in the year. 

Europe’s migration policies have undoubtedly played a role here. 

The EU supports North African governments like Libya’s to act as gatekeepers, and Libyan officials now claim the EU is using NGOs to turn the country into a giant holding zone for African migrants – a charge that aligns neatly with the replacement narrative.

A similar pattern unfolded in Tunisia in 2023. President Kais Saied gave a speech claiming there was a conspiracy to change Tunisia’s identity through mass migration. That speech triggered a wave of violence and hate against Black people, including Tunisians themselves. NGOs and activists working with migrants faced arrests, raids, and criminal charges. Social media, once a tool for revolutionary change, was used to spread hate and misinformation.

Later, when Saied signed a migration deal with European Commission President Ursula von der Leyen and Italian Prime Minister Giorgia Meloni, EU officials dismissed concerns about violence against migrants as “disinformation”. Despite mounting evidence of abuse, the political narrative took precedence. 

Only under pressure from civil society did EU institutions begin to acknowledge the situation’s gravity. But abuse against asylum seekers and migrants, and Tunisia’s crackdown on civil society, continue to this day, and there’s been no fundamental shift in the EU’s partnership.

As in Europe, what we see in North Africa isn’t just about migration. It’s about how racialised hatemongering is used to justify state policy, restrict civil society, and legitimise authoritarian practices. These aren’t just European narratives transplanted abroad: They resonate locally, activating deep-rooted social divisions and colonial legacies.

For humanitarian organisations, this presents a massive challenge. 

When race becomes a reason not just for discrimination but for denying basic aid, the whole framework of humanitarian neutrality and access is at risk. Racialisation is no longer only a discriminatory discourse: it risks becoming a political determinant of access. 

In response, humanitarian organisations need to acknowledge that neutrality doesn’t mean ignoring politics. It means understanding the politics that affect people’s access to care and protection. In a world where even the suffering body is no longer sacred, the humanitarian sector faces a stark imperative: move beyond technical solutions to crises and embrace a more politically and historically informed approach to humanitarian engagement.

The great replacement hoax

For those uninitiated in the pernicious influence of the so-called great replacement theory in Europe, Italy offers a textbook case. Matteo Salvini, leader of the far-right Northern League and former interior minister, lamented in his 2016 book Secondo Matteo [According to Matteo] that foreigners were slowly outnumbering young Italians, supposedly forcing locals to emigrate. 

More recently, Northern League Member of the European Parliament Roberto Vannacci, in his popular and hostile 2023 pamphlet Il mondo al contrario [The World Upside Down], doubled down on the idea, calling for the defence of "Italianness" – an idea of ethnic purity that reeks of a fascist era Italy should have forgotten, but that is sadly echoed by the actions and policies of the current government.

This kind of rhetoric isn’t unique to Italy. French politician Éric Zemmour has made a career out of promoting the grand remplacement theory, originally coined by the French white nationalist Renaud Camus. Other countries – Germany, Hungary, Belgium, the Netherlands – have seen similar talking points from nationalist parties. And this discourse isn’t just European. The Trump administration in the US also spreads these themes, depicting migration as a perceived existential threat.

Needless to say: these theories are baseless. 

There’s no historical, demographic, or sociological evidence supporting the idea that there is an organised effort to replace native populations. Like all good conspiracy theories, the “great replacement” strings together random facts to give easy answers to complex problems. It feeds public anxiety and offers politicians a scapegoat: migrants.

And it works. That’s the real danger. These narratives are effective – not because they’re true, but because they’re emotionally and politically powerful. On the one hand, they offer people a false sense of clarity and catharsis. On the other, they help authoritarian leaders cast themselves as protectors of a threatened nation. Meanwhile, the real structural problems – economic inequality, poor public services, erosion of civil rights – get ignored.

Worse still, this discourse leads directly to marginalisation and violence. Migrants, already vulnerable in many societies, face rising discrimination. Racism, which is embedded in many legal and social systems, is amplified, making it harder for people to access basic rights like healthcare or legal status. For humanitarian organisations, this creates a hostile environment where even neutral, life-saving work is politicised and criminalised.

Racism and humanitarian aid

Of course, none of this is new. 

Ideas of racial superiority, national purity, and the control of others’ bodies and territories have deep historical roots in colonialism, in apartheid, and in slavery. Scholars like Michael Banton and Philippe Bataille have written extensively about how racism is used to gain power and suppress dissent. And movements like Black Lives Matter show that racial injustice isn’t just a legacy of the past, it’s an active force in the present.

Even humanitarian aid is not immune. While aid organisations often aim to be neutral and guided by principles like impartiality and humanity, racism can still seep into their operations. Discrimination within NGOs – both implicit and explicit – has been called out in recent years, exposing deep structural problems. Many groups have faced scrutiny for how they frame their work, often falling into patterns of white saviorism or portraying communities as helpless victims.

Also, although race has no biological or genetic basis, it constitutes a social determinant that shapes unequal access to healthcare, especially when coupled with class or marginalisation.

But what happens when these racialised narratives go beyond exclusion and start undermining the very ability of aid organisations to operate – as they have in Libya and Tunisia and elsewhere, including in parts of Europe? 

More specifically, how should a humanitarian organisation respond when race becomes a contributing variable not only as a determinant of health or rights, but also in access to aid and the ability to sustain it?

What does this mean for NGOs?

The versions of the great replacement theory articulated by leaders in Libya and Tunisia – and indeed in Italy and other European countries – go beyond the long-standing racialisation of migrants to justify exploiting them in informal economies as commodities. These narratives depict migrants as active threats – actors in an alleged geopolitical conspiracy. This shift in perception is key: They are not even just undesirable but depicted as a political problem to be eliminated.

By casting migrants as dangerous and powerful, governments justify their expulsion as well as cracking down on anyone who helps them.

Aid groups, health workers, and activists all become suspect. They are seen not as neutral actors but as collaborators in a supposed foreign agenda. This is the crux of the issue: Replacement theories and racialisation shape real-world policy, adding a layer in the process of criminalisation of migrants and solidarity.