Life is a series of challenges. Overcoming them and thriving is where success comes from. Unfortunately, however, challenges are as discriminatory as American History. Some people have way worse obstacles than others, and you, living in your bubble, don’t realize the struggles your peers go through. In the spirit of that, the unsung community of international students deserves a moment in the spotlight.
Allow me to paint a picture of their odyssey: in a single night, via one flight with a 50-lb luggage allowance, eighteen-year-olds leave their home, city, language, familiar social systems, family and friends. The following morning, they are alone in a land where people riot to deport immigrants, and move into a room often smaller than a shoebox. To those living locally, moving to college is an emotional road trip and a logistical annoyance. For the international student, the move is a severance, akin to cutting one’s umbilical cord.
However many photos you print and spices you pack, you cannot carry the scent of your mother’s cooking, the humidity of your hometown or the sound of your native tongue being spoken on every street corner. In the cramped isolation of the dormitories, the silence is deafening. You are alone, no one to help navigate the labyrinth of healthcare or banking, and no one to offer comfort when the news cycle turns hostile.
It’s a whiplash you don’t see coming. One day, you have a name that everyone pronounces correctly; the next, it’s shortened to fit Western linguistic convenience. You are a native, and overnight, you are branded with the label of a non-resident alien, becoming a statistical data point, when all you wanted was an education and an opportunity to build a better life for yourself and the people you love.
We have to be frank: the environment these students are forced to blossom in is toxic. It is arguably the grimmest job market in recent history for an American student, even worse for international students requiring sponsorship. The unemployment rate for college graduates ages 22 to 27 soared to 5.6% at the end of last year, according to an analysis from the Federal Reserve Bank of New York. Further, International students face significant barriers to securing full-time work, with only 38.1% employed full-time compared to 53.7% of domestic peers, as seen by Interstride. Essentially, after spending years away from their home, their hard-earned money and contributing $43 Billion to the U.S. Economy in 2024-2025 (NAFSA), there is no return on investment for these young adults. But that is me getting ahead of myself; job hunting is an issue for senior year, often the suffering starts instantly, in freshman year.
Primarily, the hanging sword is the Department of Homeland Security. Unlike domestic students, who can afford to fail a class or take a gap year to find themselves, an international student is under constant surveillance. A single administrative error, a dropped credit, a bad exam day or a change in government policy can result in immediate deportation. All that time, energy and capital wasted. They live in a state of perpetual precariousness. If that weren’t enough, to survive, many feel forced to westernise, to change their names, flatten their accents and suppress their cultural instincts just to be treated with basic respect. I myself am called Sam here when my parents named me, with a lot of love, Samya. The final nail in the coffin, however, is not an identity crisis but financial exploitation. International students are the cash cows. They pay three to four times the tuition of their domestic peers while being legally barred from most off-campus jobs.
I recognise that it is a privilege to be studying in a nation of geniuses and innovators, but the illusion of meritocracy is losing its brightness as time goes on. A child leaves everything, learns how to exist in an unfamiliar world where no one looks like you, no one understands your references, and no one realises that you spent your entire morning on the phone with a Services for International Students and Scholars (SISS) advisor or a grieving parent thousands of miles away. There is no luxury of a crash out; you cannot stop, or else you are evicted. The pressure of carrying your own dreams, and your family’s hopes and savings, is suffocating. All this just to come learn here: what a compliment to this nation. Yet, the system, the people and the country refuse to embrace this child.
When an international student finally walks during commencement, their diploma is heavier. It weighs just as much as the 50 pounds of that original suitcase, plus the thousands of tons of atmospheric pressure they’ve endured while trying to breathe in a culture that often feels suffocating.
The next time you see an international student, give them a hug or an energy drink; they probably need it!
