‘We’ll be tattooed and taken to camps … To those who say that’s impossible: we thought Trump winning was impossible’

Donald Trump’s executive order suspending entry to the US of nationals from seven Muslim-majority countries (Iran, Iraq, Libya, Somalia, Sudan, Syria and Yemen), has disrupted the lives of hundreds of thousands of people, ripping families apart and leaving careers in limbo.

Here are the stories of people directly affected by Trump’s new policy, in their own words (some have asked not to be named for security reasons):

Employee of an international airline at Dubai airport

We’ve had no written instructions yet from the US, at least not on the frontline, and the instructions that we have received don’t mention dual nationality or green cards – it’s very unclear what to do.

Some people are being stopped, while others are being given the benefit of the doubt. So if, for example, a passenger is Syrian holding a US passport we’re turning a blind eye – we’re pretending we haven’t seen the Syrian passport.

One passenger stuck in the airport here is a Syrian green card holder who was denied boarding. Her family, her job, her whole life is in the US and when she asks us when we will allow her to go home, none of us know what to say. Unfortunately because she’s Syrian it’s difficult for her to get a visa for Dubai and it’s difficult for her to go elsewhere.

At the moment her chances of getting into the US depend on which airport she goes to. If she’s landing in New York they’ll send her back, if it’s Houston they might accept her – what we’ve found is it really depends on which shift is operating; it’s not even a standard airport policy.

Last I heard they were trying any airport as long as she gets to US soil, and then at least once she’s there she can create a legal challenge or manage her way in instead of being stuck in Dubai.

Yazidi refugee in Iraq, due to fly to the US this weekend

I went through the whole process at the airport and was waiting at the gate when an employee from the airline, FlyDubai, called my name and told me I would not be able to board the flight. I asked why and was told to go and speak to the US consulate. I told them I am not leaving the airport because I paid for my ticket, and I am a displaced person so I don’t have the money to pay again.

Rejecting us in this way is really shocking – especially for those that helped the Americans

We are under threat here in Irbil because of my husband’s work with the Americans. Rejecting us in this way is really shocking – especially for those that helped the Americans. If one person worked with the Americans then the whole family is under threat [from extremists].

I am not trying to go to the US for political or economic reasons; I am fleeing Iraq because I am a minority, and every day I live in fear that [Isis] will attack and l will be displaced all over again.

Facebook Twitter Pinterest A protest at John F Kennedy airport, New York. Photograph: Andrew Kelly/Reuters

Fatemeh Shams, Iranian professor at University of Pennsylvania

After June 2009, when the Islamic Republic [of Iran] imprisoned my loved ones, persecuted my family and sent hate messages all the way to Oxford, where I was finishing my doctorate, I pretty much lost everything.

Everything​ is now at risk. I have been sleepless for two nights. Sleepless and speechless

It was hard, nearly impossible, to stand up again and build everything from scratch. Finding new friends, building a new life. It took me seven years to get where I am today [in Pennsylvania]. Now, my whole life is up in the air again as a result of one signature.

Everything including my career is now at risk. I have been sleepless for two nights. Sleepless and speechless. It doesn’t matter if you are a professor at one of the best universities of this country or a student or a migrant or a refugee. As long as you were born in Iran you are accused of being a terrorist and therefore you are banned from living a normal life.

You are banned from seeing your loved ones. You are banned from travelling. You are banned from being a human being.

Syrian refugee married to an American and living in Irbil, Iraq

In November 2016, before he married, Mohammed tried to smuggle himself to Sweden in the hope of a better life. On the way, he was on a boat that sank. Eleven people drowned, including five children.

I was in the water for four hours. I lost hope. I thought everything was finished. I saw the coastguards try to give CPR to a five-year-old child who had already drowned. His mother was crying and the entire scene was the most devastating thing I’ve ever seen.

I used to think America was an open-minded country with an open-minded government

If I go back to Syria I have to join the army and I would have to shoot or be shot. I want to go to America to have a decent, safe life for my family, and be somewhere I can continue my studies and have a future. Now I feel offended because [Trump’s] decision is specifically targeting Muslims.

I used to think America was an open-minded country with an open-minded government; but now I’ve seen it’s a racist government, and I can’t raise my children in a racist society so I’m rethinking my decision. Trump’s order must be challenged.”

Tara Sepehrifar, Iranian researcher at Human Rights Watch

The past couple of days have been a sober reminder that I should not get comfortable with my life here, that the journey has not come to an end.

I feel I have no home. It sucks to feel unwelcome

It was the winter of 2010, while I was in Evin prison in Tehran, that I decided to leave Iran indefinitely. I was desperate to learn how I can effectively challenge repression. At the time I wanted to work for the United Nations to make the world a better place for all. With enormous pressure from my parents, I left immediately after I was released.

Here [in the US], I have tried my best to not live as a victim and have been pretty lucky. I have achieved many things I wanted to do. I have had the iron-clad support of my family, made new friends and found love.

And yet, still I feel I have no home. It sucks to feel unwelcome, to feel undignified, to be a minority. I can’t help but to question why I’m still here. I want to tell myself that as long as I live here, which I don’t know how long will be, I will do my part to fight for justice.

Syrian man who has lived in the US for 20 years

It caught all of us by surprise, me, my family, the people I know. We had heard about it in the campaign but we were wishfully thinking it was just campaign talk. We never thought once he took office his advisers would go along with him; [we thought] somebody would talk him out of it because it’s akin to fascist policies.

The fear is that this is just the first step. What could be next?

We’re all thinking about plan B. The fear is that this is just the first step. The administration might try to suffocate us out of the country. What could be next? My entire life is in the US, I don’t own anything outside it, my house, my car, my office, I lived there for almost 20 years. This is unreal.

Ali Abdi, Iranian student with permanent residency in the US

I am Iranian-born anthropology PhD candidate studying in the US. I left New York on 22 January, two days after Trump was sworn in. I’m now in Dubai, waiting for my visa to enter Afghanistan to carry out research.

The language of the executive order is ambiguous, but it is likely to prevent me from returning to the country where I am a student, where I still have to defend my thesis. I cannot stay in Dubai for long or my UAE visa will expire. It’s not wise to go to Iran either. This is just one story among thousands.

Facebook Twitter Pinterest People protest at Washington Dulles airport. Photograph: Reuters

Masih Alinejad, Iranian journalist exiled in the US

For the past seven years I have been deprived of the pleasure of seeing and hugging my family members. Due to my journalistic activities abroad, my family in Iran was taken hostage by the judiciary and barred from leaving Iran. Ever since I left, I have never been able to see them.

The one thing that has kept me alive is my son. Seven years into my life in exile, my son has grown up and he goes to university in the UK. However, this time, Trump has built a wall between me and my son. We are both in limbo.

He cannot come and see me and nor can I go to the UK to visit him. If I were to go and visit him, I would be deprived of the right to come back to the United States. I am neither a terrorist, nor a murderer. I am merely the victim of a repressive government.

Photojournalist from Palestine who lives in the US

It’s like waking to a nightmare coming true, something so scary to imagine, yet my family is dragged to live through it. We are living under the threat of [our lives] all vanishing, [it’s] not safe inside and we are not able to go outside [the US] without risking not being able to come back.

We are not able to leave the US without risking not being able to come back

In an open prison you at least know where you stand; we don’t even know that.

Of course I’m terrified, everything that seemed [too] insane to be happening is actually happening on the very first weeks of Trump’s presidency. I’m afraid now we will have the registration for real as Muslims and Middle Easterners. We will be tattooed with numbers and will be taken to camps like they did to the Japanese. To those who will say that’s insane or impossible, I would say we thought Trump winning was impossible, and we thought the Muslim ban is impossible.

Sudanese fellow at nonprofit organisation

It’s a very strange feeling to be in America – a place where many strive and dream to reach – and to be stuck here and forced to stay put, with no other alternative than to oblige. I’m currently on a J1 training visa.

What could happen during the 90 days and after 90 days? That uncertainty is consuming me and everyone I know

I still thought I had the safety net of my British passport, being a dual citizen. The reality of course was very different. As I begin to hear more and more stories of people being detained at airports, some deported, friends and colleagues being interrogated, mothers who can’t travel, families separated, my fear grows.

I’m scared of what’s happening, scared of what’s to come, scared of the uncertainty and scared because my British passport is just as useless as my Sudanese passport right now.

Part of my freedom has been taken away and I have to patiently wait and see to see if it will be given back. Ironic, as we are the ones seen as the enemy.







Salimeh Maghsoudlou, Iranian lecturer at Yale University



Both me and my husband are Iranians and permanent residents of Canada. My husband lives and works in Montreal. I was issued a multiple entry visa which made my travel to Canada possible. I had to cancel my travel this weekend when I heard about the executive order on immigration.

With the new situation not only I will not be able to see my husband for at least three months, but my academic career at Yale will be jeopardised. Once I return to Canada after finishing the spring semester, I won’t be able to go back and take up my position at Yale.

Of course I can stay here through next year, but this means that me and my husband will live separated from each other for more than one year. An option that I prefer not to envisage.

Additional reporting by Yousra Elbagir