When Kanbar Hossein-Bor arrived in the UK in 1987, he didn’t come through a cushy fast-track immigration programme or with a diplomatic visa in hand. He was six years old, scared, and clutching his twin sister’s hand as they crossed into Pakistan from Iran. Their mother had already made it to the UK, and they were following in her footsteps after fleeing violence and instability. They spoke no English and had no idea what was waiting for them in Southampton. It was the beginning of a completely new life—one filled with uncertainty, but also with the promise of something better.
Fast forward nearly four decades and Kanbar has just been appointed the UK’s High Commissioner to Fiji. As reported by The Guardian, he’s the first refugee ever to be given such a senior diplomatic role by the British government. That matters. Not because of tokenism or box-ticking, but because it changes the conversation around what refugees can do when they’re allowed to build a life in safety.
Speaking to the press about the appointment, Kanbar said, “I’m conscious that my story is quite rare. It shouldn’t be. There are so many refugees out there with enormous potential, if only they were given a chance.”
His early years in the UK weren’t easy.
He and his sister were placed in a school where they didn’t understand a word of what was going on. He’s spoken about being bewildered in class and feeling like an outsider. A breakthrough moment came when a kind teacher helped get them on a school trip to France—something they almost missed out on due to their status. That teacher’s compassion made a huge difference, and it stuck with him.
There were other turning points too. Like when he was cast as Winston Churchill in a school play. It was a small thing, but it made a big impression. “That experience showed me that I could belong here,” he told The Guardian. “It helped me believe I had a future in this country.”
Kanbar didn’t just drift into diplomacy. He earned a law degree from Warwick, then went on to Cambridge. He became a barrister before eventually joining the Foreign, Commonwealth & Development Office (FCDO). He’s worked on issues ranging from international law to conflict resolution, and even served in Iraq—a role that came with obvious risks and complexities. He also served as Deputy High Commissioner to Nigeria and later as the UK’s Envoy for Media Freedom, working to support press freedom globally.
He’s fluent in Balochi, Arabic, and Farsi. That alone sets him apart in a department where language skills are sorely lacking. However, it’s not just about speaking the language. It’s about understanding how people think, what pressures they face, what histories they carry. That’s something you can’t fake—and something he brings in spades.
His appointment to Fiji isn’t just symbolic.
The UK’s presence in the Pacific is strategically important, especially as China increases its influence in the region. Kanbar’s job will include deepening ties with Fiji and the wider Pacific, and strengthening cooperation on issues like climate change, trade, and regional stability. It’s a serious role with real responsibilities.
Kanbar’s journey hasn’t erased the trauma of his early childhood, but it’s given him a platform to advocate for others. And that’s something he doesn’t take lightly. In interviews, he’s repeatedly made clear that he wants to use his role to challenge the tired stereotypes about refugees. In his words: “It’s not about feeling sorry for refugees. It’s about recognising what they can do if we just stop putting up barriers.”
He’s also been vocal about how immigration policy and rhetoric in the UK can veer into dangerous territory. Without getting party-political, he’s made a point of saying that his own life might have turned out very differently if today’s rules had been in place when he arrived.
Now, as High Commissioner to Fiji, he represents the very country that once welcomed him as a frightened child.
It’s full-circle in the best kind of way. That being said, he’s not interested in being held up as a one-off success story. “There are thousands of people like me,” he said. “We just need to open the door.”
His story is one of those rare ones that doesn’t just make you hopeful—it makes you rethink what’s possible. Not everyone who arrives in the UK as a refugee will go on to represent the country on the world stage. But Kanbar Hossein-Bor is proof that when you give people a shot, there’s no telling where they might end up.