On October 14, the Swedish government announced the nomination of IKEA CEO Jesper Brodin as a candidate for the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees (UNHCR). Less than a month later, as current high commissioner Filippo Grandi’s term of office neared, Brodin resigned from his position at the Swedish furniture giant, which he had led for eight years. In January 2026, the UN Secretary-General’s Office will present to the General Assembly its preferred candidates in what former UNHCR Research Director Geoff Crisp calls a “formal election.” Could the former head of an iconic multinational corporation become the world’s foremost authority on refugees, and if so, what would it mean?
In interviews, Jesper Brodin often refers to a small pamphlet by IKEA founder Ingvar Kamprad entitled The Testament of a Furniture Dealer, outlining the values that inspired his way of doing business: innovation, sustainability, and collective effort over individualism. Should UNHCR learn a lesson from the ‘furniture dealers’? The issue is important because while Brodin’s appeal is often framed around corporate values, it remains unclear how or if that translates into protection for refugees. This question is worth asking, as IKEA’s role as UNHCR’s donor and operational partner is important and likely to grow, regardless of whether Brodin ever takes up the Geneva post.
Humanitarianism and business have historically gone hand in hand, particularly since the end of the Cold War, but this is the first time a business leader has been proposed to head the UN refugee agency. The appointment comes at a time when UNHCR is facing dramatic funding shortfalls and political pressure and anti-refugee sentiment is rising globally. Many academics and practitioners believe that the very future of the global refugee system may be at stake. To understand the implications of Sweden’s choice, it is therefore necessary to consider how corporate humanitarianism currently shapes refugee protection.
Many people were surprised by this nomination. But Sweden’s move is not surprising. Over the past three decades, corporations have increasingly assumed responsibility for responding to humanitarian crises, while traditional organizations compete for rapidly dwindling resources. Research on the commodification of compassion shows that “doing good” and “doing well” are increasingly becoming the same thing. This type of “branded aid” involves both promoting commercial brands (from Toms shoes to Starbucks) through involvement in humanitarian work and turning the aid itself into a branded activity, which is most effectively done through corporate partnerships. It started about 20 years ago and is now the leading model for humanitarian engagement. One of Kinshasa’s leading humanitarian workers told us: “Right now it’s all about collaboration between the private sector, businesses and philanthropists.” Indeed, if the desire to help becomes salable, companies like IKEA can benefit by joining the global backing to build their ethical branding. But could UNHCR benefit from being led by IKEA’s CEO? This issue goes to the heart of growing anxiety about the direction of the refugee regime.
I see three main issues here. First, UNHCR is caught between conflicting demands from donor countries in the global North and host countries in the South. Brodin and IKEA’s comfortable brand of capitalism cannot reconcile these fundamental tensions over sovereignty. Jesper Brodin is admired as a businessman and touts his credibility as a leader and negotiator. It has been said that Trump likes business people. But challenging the agency’s duty to protect requires a vision that goes far beyond the smiling face of compassionate capitalism. While formally remaining the custodian of the 1951 Refugee Convention, UNHCR has engaged in what scholars such as Bhupinder Chimni describe as an “erosion” of the international refugee system, a long-term weakening of asylum norms and burden-sharing commitments. Donor governments in the Global North have used limited support for UNHCR’s humanitarian operations in the Global South as a way to divert attention from neglecting refugee rights within their own borders. How does Brodin navigate these conflicting pressures, from the challenges of containment in the Global North to the duty of protection at the heart of UNHCR’s mission?
Second, Brodin frequently cites his experience as a supply chain manager at companies that have put logistics innovation at the core of their business strategy as a key asset for the job. Indeed, this is in line with UNHCR’s current focus on refreshing its own supply chain strategy. He also talks about “bringing refugee values and assets to the business world,” a term that refers to refugee skills and workforce potential. But the effort turned out to be much more complicated than he thought. Almost a decade after IKEA first tried to integrate refugees into its supply chain in Jordan, the number of people taking part in the program remains low, and refugees in the country still face significant barriers to work and social security.
The research we published in 2021 highlighted that focusing on refugee logistics actually means working to integrate displaced people into global supply chains, rather than providing them with material support and infrastructure. Logistics, whether for business or disaster relief, relies on a network of infrastructure and rules that only function through continuous negotiation with governments.
Finally, the contradictions in IKEA’s corporate and foundation ownership structure, what makes IKEA a successful business, embody the contradiction of confusing the public need of refugee protection with the private objective of profit. The company’s philanthropic arm, the IKEA Foundation, has been working with UNHCR since 2010, supporting operations in 16 countries. The UN agency has defined this cooperation as “transformative” and highlights how it has become a model for all partnerships with the private sector. Additionally, the appointment comes as major donor countries such as the US, UK and Germany are cutting their budgets. In this geopolitical context, Sweden may be staking its position as one of the Western world’s last remaining humanitarian powers, even as it faces its own economic challenges. Brodin’s bid capitalizes on Sweden’s awareness of frugality and sustainability.
But there is an implicit but fundamental contradiction between Mr. Brodin’s promise to address UNHCR’s crisis by “holding the purse strings” and IKEA’s position in the global economic structure that contributed to the humanitarian funding crisis in the first place. In 2017, following a call from an EU parliamentary group, the European Commission launched a thorough investigation into the tax treatment of Inter IKEA, one of the two groups that operate IKEA’s business, in the Netherlands, where the company is headquartered. The company’s ownership structure could benefit commercial operations and reduce its tax burden, thereby reducing its contribution to the national finances. Here, as in many other cases, big corporations are promising to redress the global inequalities they have created.
In the current hostile global climate towards migrants and refugees, Brodin and Ikea’s brand of feel-good capitalism risks further hollowing out UNHCR’s protection mission and reducing humanitarianism to a matter of well-managed supply chains. The risks are high. When humanitarian priorities are shaped by corporate logics, there is a risk that core protections, from access to asylum to basic assistance, are undermined. What benefits corporate organizations does not necessarily address the rights and needs of refugees.
The views expressed in this article are the author’s own and do not necessarily reflect the editorial stance of Al Jazeera.
