The Old Blog in the Desert

Sana Qureshi never heard of the term “inadmissible alien” until it appeared in the subject line of the email that shattered her world.

It arrived on a Thursday morning, long after she’d submitted her last chemistry lab at the University of Michigan and just before walking across the Diag on the way to her final lecture.

The email didn’t come from her advisor or the International Students Office but from a no-reply Department of Homeland Security address.

It informed her that her F-1 student visa was revoked, in flat, colorless prose, effective immediately.

No hearing. No warning.

As she reached the brick steps of the Chemistry Building, her phone buzzed again—this time, a text: “Your SEVIS record has been terminated. Prepare to depart the country within 10 days.”

Sana wasn’t alone. Chat groups and campus bulletin boards buzzed with the stories that multiplied like viral posts. Friends in Colorado and Florida, classmates from Iran, Egypt, and Pakistan—some already packed up, some too stunned to move. Professors pleaded for explanations. Deans made calls. But the silence from Washington was louder than any protest.

It wasn’t random. Everyone knew it wasn’t random.

Weeks earlier, student-led protests had erupted on dozens of campuses in response to the latest flare of violence in the Middle East. Some groups waved signs reading Free Gaza, while others chanted slogans now being scrutinized under a microscope of political suspicion. Sana had attended a single teach-in, listening quietly from the back row and taking notes. That was enough.

The Trump administration’s new crackdown had begun quietly but spread like wildfire. In hushed meetings behind closed doors, universities in Nevada, California, Kentucky, and Massachusetts reported dozens of visa cancellations in one day.

Homeland Security cited “national security concerns” and “associations with terrorist sympathies.” But to those affected, the accusations felt dangerously vague.

They committed no crimes. Nor were they being interviewed.

One official admitted that surveillance algorithms had flagged students based on online activity and proximity to campus events. In other words, guilt by association.

The number of students affected was minimal—barely a dent in the 1.5 million international students studying in the United States. But the message was clear–participate in antisemitic rallies and risk losing everything.

Sana’s roommate, Hannah, tried to comfort her as she packed her suitcases in silence. “I thought we were better than this,” Hannah whispered.

Sana didn’t answer. She didn’t know what to say. She’d come to the U.S. for an education, for opportunity, for the dream. Instead, she was boarding a flight not just out of the country but out of the life she’d built, and the one she had barely begun to imagine.

The campus lights faded into the night below as the plane lifted from Detroit Metro. And the semester ended—not with finals or farewells—but with the quiet erasure of a name from a registry, a login page, a dorm mailbox.

A silent semester in a land that once promised to be a beacon.