It’s one of those overlooked things in global politics—how when a regime falls or shifts in South Asia or Africa, people start moving. Not always in a straight line, and not always just fleeing. Some leave, yes, but some arrive too. And the same goes for money. There’s an outflow—capital fleeing instability—but, oddly, also an inflow, sometimes of remittances, sometimes of investment. It seems paradoxical. But the thing is, once you start to untangle the pieces, you realize it’s not just about politics—it’s about memory, survival, speculation, and sometimes pure inertia.
To start, there’s a simple point that often gets buried under all the charts and data: regime change tends to produce uncertainty. And people hate uncertainty. As Saskia Sassen explains in Guests and Aliens, migration is frequently triggered not just by violence or poverty, but by “the collapse of institutional predictability” (Sassen, 1999). When a military junta takes over, or a long-standing autocracy is swept away, that predictability vanishes. Land titles suddenly mean nothing. Licenses get revoked. The future—especially for those with just enough wealth to be anxious—becomes deeply unclear. That’s when outward migration begins.
But why inward migration too? That’s where it gets interesting. New regimes, especially revolutionary or populist ones, often open space—political or economic—for particular groups. Think of the return migration of exiles after Mugabe’s fall in Zimbabwe or the repatriation programs following Sri Lanka’s 2015 shift in government. In The Politics of Return (Long & Crisp, 2019), the authors point out that post-conflict states frequently create incentives—sometimes just the symbolic promise of safety—for people to return. Even when the conditions are shaky, there’s a pull. It’s nostalgia, sometimes. It’s also about strategic positioning: being “home” when a new order is being written.
This simultaneous inward and outward flow of people can be hard to track, especially since both are often happening in the informal spaces between legality and survival. In The Global Bourgeoisie: The Rise of the Middle Classes in the Age of Empire (Kocka & Mitchell, 2018), there’s a useful point about how classes that feel threatened by regime change tend to “exit with their assets,” while those with fewer assets “wait and re-enter the system when new opportunities arise.” In other words, the people with options move out fast, and the people with nothing to lose sometimes move in, hoping for scraps or access.
But people aren’t the only ones moving. Money moves too—both out and in—and not always in ways that make sense at first glance. Outflows are easier to understand. When there’s a coup in Pakistan or a civil-military shuffle in Sudan, elites move their money abroad, often through real estate in Dubai, shell companies in Mauritius, or offshore accounts in Switzerland. In Capital without Borders (Harrington, 2016), Brooke Harrington lays bare the world of wealth managers who specialize in hiding capital during times of instability. South Asian and African clients are, unsurprisingly, overrepresented.
Yet while capital is fleeing, remittances often spike. In Migration and Remittances during the Global Financial Crisis and Beyond (Mohapatra et al., 2012), it’s noted that migrant communities tend to increase remittances during crises back home—out of duty, guilt, or a desire to prop up their families. So even while elites are draining the national coffers, ordinary workers abroad are filling them up, bit by bit. That’s the dual nature of “money migration.” It’s not a single flow, but rather two rivers moving in opposite directions.
Then there’s speculative investment. When a regime falls, there’s often a window—brief and risky—where new investors see opportunity. Think of Ethiopia after the fall of the Derg regime. As shown in The Political Economy of Development in Ethiopia (Clapham, 2018), there was a period in the early 1990s when diaspora investors rushed in to buy land, start businesses, and stake claims before the new political lines hardened. The same happened in Tunisia post-Arab Spring, described in Contesting Authoritarianism: Labor Challenges to the State in Egypt (Alexander, 2020), where, while the streets were still smoldering, small-scale capital began trickling in from abroad, mostly from Tunisian exiles returning with savings and a kind of hopeful impatience.
We also need to look at the cultural mechanics behind all this. In Exit, Voice, and Loyalty (Hirschman, 1970), Albert Hirschman wrote that when people are dissatisfied with a regime, they can either exit (migrate), voice (protest), or remain loyal. In many South Asian and African contexts, exit is often easier than voice. But what’s overlooked is that sometimes people do all three—at different stages, or all at once. Someone might leave Zimbabwe in 2008, continue to criticize it from London, and then return in 2017 when Mugabe falls, hoping to influence change. Migration isn’t always a permanent severance; it’s a strategy. And money follows that strategy—first out, then potentially back in.
Technology also changes the game. In Digital Migration (Leurs & Smets, 2018), the authors note how mobile money, crypto, and digital remittance tools have made it possible for even politically sensitive flows of capital to bypass traditional surveillance. For example, during the 2021 Myanmar military coup, diaspora networks used cryptocurrency to send funds directly to protest groups. Similarly, during the 2019 protests in Sudan, money from the diaspora was funneled through apps to avoid bank controls, as discussed in Money Moves: Remittances and Migration in a Global Economy (Vigh & Schapendonk, 2021).
The other layer that complicates all of this is the way foreign governments respond. In Africa’s Last Colonial Currency (van de Walle, 2020), the lingering French control over CFA-linked African economies is shown to shape how capital can enter or exit during crises. Regime change doesn’t occur in a vacuum—it’s often embedded within global economic architectures that either enable or restrict movement. Similarly, in South Asia, Indian financial institutions often serve as conduits or barriers, depending on who’s in power and where the money’s coming from. This is reflected in The Political Economy of South Asia (Sharma, 2021), where cross-border finance is shown to be deeply political, not just economic.
There’s also the issue of identity and affect. In Transnationalism: Diasporas and the Future of Nations (Vertovec, 2009), diaspora behavior is analyzed not merely through economics but through emotions—love, guilt, hope. Many migrants continue to send money back long after it’s economically logical to do so. And many investors—especially in African contexts—return because they feel they have a role in rebuilding, not just because there’s profit. These affective economies are hard to quantify but crucial in understanding two-way flows.
Let’s not forget the darker side either. Regime change often sparks informal migration routes, including trafficking and smuggling. In Illicit Flows and Criminal Things (van Schendel & Abraham, 2005), the authors argue that the breakdown of formal structures during regime transitions opens up space for “parastate actors”—warlords, militias, cartel intermediaries—who profit by controlling routes of both people and money. This is seen in post-coup Mali, or during the political vacuum in Libya, where both human and financial flows operated outside of any state’s control.
Finally, there’s the time lag. As shown in Delayed Development (Gerschenkron, 2012), regime changes don’t always trigger immediate migration or capital movement. Sometimes the effects emerge years later. An initial hopefulness—think South Sudan in 2011—may lure people and money back in. But when the system collapses again, the outflow begins anew. These cycles of hope and disillusionment are common, and they are written into the fabric of both African and South Asian modernity.
Regime change isn’t a neat before-and-after story. It’s a tangle of exits and entries, both of people and capital, shaped by class, memory, emotion, and opportunity. Migration isn’t just a symptom of collapse—it’s a response, a strategy, and at times, a gamble. And the money? It follows the same logic. Some of it runs, some of it returns, and much of it does both—at once.
References
Sassen, Saskia (1999). Guests and Aliens
Long, Katy & Crisp, Jeff (2019). The Politics of Return
Kocka, Jürgen & Mitchell, Geoff Eley (2018). The Global Bourgeoisie
Harrington, Brooke (2016). Capital without Borders
Mohapatra, Sanket et al. (2012). Migration and Remittances during the Global Financial Crisis and Beyond
Clapham, Christopher (2018). The Political Economy of Development in Ethiopia
Alexander, Anne (2020). Contesting Authoritarianism: Labor Challenges to the State in Egypt
Hirschman, Albert O. (1970). Exit, Voice, and Loyalty
Leurs, Koen & Smets, Kevin (2018). Digital Migration
Vigh, Henrik & Schapendonk, Joris (2021). Money Moves: Remittances and Migration in a Global Economy
van de Walle, Nicolas (2020). Africa’s Last Colonial Currency
Sharma, Chandrika (2021). The Political Economy of South Asia
Vertovec, Steven (2009). Transnationalism: Diasporas and the Future of Nations
van Schendel, Willem & Abraham, Itty (2005). Illicit Flows and Criminal Things
Gerschenkron, Alexander (2012). Delayed Development
Adepoju, Aderanti (2010). International Migration within, to and from Africa in a Globalised World
Bakewell, Oliver (2011). Migration and Mobility in the African Context
