Remittances are often hailed in public discourse as symbols of sacrifice and familial devotion—unquestionably good and beneficial. But what happens after the money is sent? What are the emotional costs and interpersonal complexities that unfold when financial transfers become the foundation of family ties? My project investigates the emotional and moral economy of remittance transfers in the United Arab Emirates (UAE), reframing them not as simple financial flows, but as acts of care fraught with risk, expectation, and relational strain.

This study began with a curiosity about the everyday experiences of migrants in the
UAE, a country that is both the second largest source of remittances globally (Abbas 2021; Argaam 2024) and home to the second-highest percentage of migrants in its population (United Nations 2024). Despite the country’s global importance in migration and remittance flows, much of the existing scholarship has centered on the macroeconomic effects of remittances for
households and sending states. Far less is known about how migrants themselves experience the emotional aftermath of giving, particularly when their money is misused, wasted, or fails to bring about the recognition they hope for.

To explore these dynamics, I conducted a mixed-methods study with a quantitative
survey of 302 migrants and twelve in-depth interviews with workers employed at NYU Abu Dhabi. These participants, while better protected than many migrants in the UAE, still face the emotional labor and vulnerability that come with remitting. I asked: How are migrants affected when the money they send is poorly spent or misused? And what strategies do they develop to manage or mitigate these tensions?

Through this work, I introduce the concept of “remittance relationships” to describe how pre-existing familial ties are reshaped when financial transfers become central. In these relationships, money is not just money—it is an emotional tool, a claim to care, and sometimes a weapon of guilt or control. Remittances bring migrants closer to their families, but also entangle them in expectations, conflicts, and sometimes, heartbreak.

One of the most striking findings from this study is that conflict within these remittance relationships often emerges not over whether to remit, but over what happens once the money arrives. I identify two broad types of conflict: relational strains and relational fractures. Relational strains refer to everyday, short-term tensions—often with close kin—about how money is spent, whether it’s on small luxuries, differing financial priorities, or misunderstandings. These tensions are usually navigable and do not threaten the underlying relationship. Relational fractures, on the other hand, involve serious breaches of trust—fraud,
chronic misuse, or broken promises—and can lead to long-term or even permanent breakdowns in family ties. These are moments when the migrant is not just financially disappointed, but emotionally wounded, feeling unrecognized or betrayed.

Yet migrants are not passive participants in this process. They actively respond to these relational dynamics with financial management strategies that fall into two categories: routine strategies and correctional measures. Routine strategies are quiet, habitual practices—like fixed remittance amounts, regular schedules, or reliance on trusted intermediaries—that help maintain stability in the absence of conflict. Correctional measures, however, are deliberate changes in behavior adopted after conflict: withholding transfers, setting conditions, or shifting responsibility to more trustworthy recipients. These responses reveal how migrants are not just senders of money, but managers of moral economies, constantly adjusting to protect themselves and their ties.

This reframing of remittance dynamics makes several contributions to migration scholarship. First, it shifts the focus away from aggregate models and economic metrics to highlight how interpersonal emotions—trust, gratitude, resentment shape remittance flows. Second, it adds a nuanced understanding of conflict, emphasizing not just its frequency or cause, but its emotional aftermath and impact on long-term relationships. While prior research has documented the moral dilemmas of whether to remit, my study extends the conversation to what happens after money is sent, and how migrants cope with the outcomes. Third, it surfaces the strategic agency of migrants who use a range of subtle and overt tactics to negotiate familial expectations, maintain dignity, and recalibrate fragile relationships.

Conducting this research in the context of NYU Abu Dhabi’s workers—who generally have access to formal financial channels and some labor protections helped reveal how even relatively empowered migrants experience emotional volatility around remittances. For migrants with fewer rights, such as domestic workers or those paid informally, the emotional and material toll is likely even more severe. The study thus represents only a slice of a broader, more urgent story.

At a time when remittances are widely celebrated in development discourse as unproblematic signs of belonging and contribution, this project serves as a reminder that these financial flows carry emotional weight. Behind every transfer is a migrant—calculating, negotiating, hoping, and sometimes hurting. By attending to the moral labor embedded in remittance practices, we are compelled to rethink how we understand transnational kinship, obligation, and resilience. This study does not seek to undermine the value of remittances. Rather, it invites a more humane and complete picture—one that recognizes remittances not only as acts of sacrifice and care, but also as sites of emotional labor, interpersonal negotiation, and sometimes, painful rupture.