International students across the U.S. are losing their visas without warning. For many, the only explanation is a dream turned nightmare—and a government no longer pretending to welcome us.
Last night, I dreamt Donald Trump was chasing me through the Mall of America. I ran past Burger King, past Claire’s, past the Build-A-Bear, past rows of blank-eyed animals watching from behind the glass. The loudspeaker blared a cheery jingle for a two-for-one slushie deal. He was right behind me now, so close I could feel the tug of my jacket. He was after my student visa.
I woke up drenched in sweat to another message from my friend: “Another student visa termination. Did you hear?”
It sounds ludicrous. Stupid, even.
A few months ago, I would’ve laughed it off. But not anymore. Thoughts of these visa terminations have taken up residence in my head—day and night, waking and, apparently now, unwaking. Not just mine, but in the minds of 1.1 million other international students across the United States.
We’re reading the same headlines. We’re watching our friends disappear from classrooms, Zoom links, group chats. We’re wondering if we’re next.
Four undergraduates at my university had their visas revoked last week. They’re far from alone. As of April 14, over 1,000 international students across more than 180 universities have had their immigration status revoked by the U.S. State Department.
Mahmoud Khalil. Badar Khan Suri. Rümeysa Öztürk. Doğukan Günaydin. Ranjani Srinivasan. Kseniia Petrova. And countless other students staying quiet for fear of retaliation.
For many, the trigger isn’t clear. Some were involved in pro-Palestinian activism. Others had no political ties at all. In several cases, the cited justification was a past legal incident—including minor charges that were withdrawn, dismissed or resolved years ago. In Kseniia Petrova’s case, it was frog embryos—which she failed to declare while returning to Boston from France. That was enough: Her visa was revoked, and she was transferred to an ICE correctional facility in Louisiana, where she remains, detained alongside at least 70 other inmates.
Immigration attorneys say they’re seeing SEVIS terminations—the removal of a student’s active visa status—for infractions that would not have raised red flags even a year ago.
This marks a significant shift.
A SEVIS termination effectively ends a student’s legal ability to remain in the U.S. It’s not a delay. It’s not a review. It’s an erasure—immediate and absolute. Without SEVIS status, students are considered out of status and subject to deportation, often without formal notice or time to respond.
Secretary of State Marco Rubio said at a press conference in Guyana on March 27, “We do it every day. Every time I find one of these lunatics, I take away their visas.”
We’re not lunatics. We’re just students. We’re trying to learn, trying to visit our families for summer break, trying to land a job in a collapsing market, trying to live without the constant fear that the lives we’ve built could all be torn away tomorrow without warning, without reason—just like anyone else.
Some of my international friends don’t know where they stand anymore. One had plans to visit family abroad this summer, but canceled because they don’t want to risk leaving now. Another is from a country with mandatory military service. If he’s forced to return before graduating, he doesn’t know if he can come back. Others are afraid their OPT—the visa that allows us to work in the U.S. after graduation—will be revoked or canceled before it even begins.
We’re all waiting. Watching. And none of us are breathing too loudly.
Legal experts note that these actions are increasingly citing a 1952 foreign policy statute that’s been seldom used until now. Other justifications fall under vague “public safety” concerns. But in practice, many of these revocations appear arbitrary—and deeply political.
They also come at a time when lawmakers are trying to dismantle the OPT program. If the Fairness for High-Skilled Americans Act of 2025 passes, international students will no longer be able to work in the U.S. after graduation. For most of us, that means no job offers, no internships, no future here. It’s a complete reversal of the promise that brought us here in the first place.
I remember what that promise sounded like.
American universities told us they were the best in the world—places where we could think freely, speak openly, grow into global leaders. We came here on that dream.
Now, even attending a protest is a risk. Even writing this article is a risk.
At a recent rally at my university, domestic students called on the administration to protect their international peers—demanding legal support, transparency and a public commitment not to cooperate with ICE. Meanwhile, international students were advised not to attend because the risk was simply too high.
The consequences won’t be immediate. But they will be lasting. American higher education has long relied on international students—not just for tuition, but for research, innovation and global influence. This year’s visa revocations, coupled with OPT rollbacks, will reshape the pipeline for years to come. Students are already considering Canada, the U.K. and Germany instead.
And the attack on international students isn’t just about us. It’s about the future of higher education. It’s about who is allowed to speak, and who is allowed to stay. And it’s not going to stop here.
As American Association of University Professors president Todd Wolfson put it: “They’ll come next for those who teach the history of slavery, or who provide gender-affirming care, or who research climate change. … We all have to draw a line together.”
The United States is building that line with invisible ink.
We are already on the other side.
