As an immigrant scientist in the U.S., travel bans and visa uncertainty are taking a toll

From ScienceMag:

On a warm June evening, I sat alone in my house, sobbing as I watched a choppy, pixelated livestream of my mother’s funeral. Thousands of kilometers away in Venezuela, my family grieved together while I remained in the United States, unable to travel because of immigration restrictions. I tried to tell my 17-month-old son I was sad, but not because of him. I was heartbroken and overwhelmed with guilt for not being there. I kept asking myself whether choosing a career in science, so far from home, had been the right decision. I felt a little like the species I study as a postdoc: the spotted lanternfly, an invasive insect that threatens U.S. ecosystems. I, too, was unwelcome and out of place.

As an undergraduate in Venezuela, I became captivated by the biodiversity of the tropics and began to research fruit bats. A cold email to a U.S. scientist working in the field opened the door for me to pursue a Ph.D. in her lab. I worried about not fitting in and was sad to leave home. Still, I felt thrilled and fortunate to move abroad. Visiting my family back home would never be a problem, or so I assumed. And after completing my Ph.D., I could return to Venezuela, teach at a local university, and share what I had learned abroad.

During my first year as a Ph.D. student, my mother was diagnosed with breast cancer. My first instinct was to move back home, but my mother—wise and selfless—assured me I should stay and keep pursuing my dream. Her illness made me more determined to finish so the sacrifice would feel worthwhile. I visited her three times during my program, and we shared long video calls. I followed her doctors’ visits, her hair loss, her fading strength. She supported me amid my research struggles and celebrated my progress, professionally and personally. She met my partner virtually. She watched my Ph.D. graduation online, and my wedding 2 months later. Despite my deep sadness, I found joy in my work and felt deeply grateful for the life I was building in the U.S.

Meanwhile my plan to return home had begun to dissolve, as Venezuela’s political and economic collapse made academic careers nearly impossible there. After my marriage I submitted a green card application so I could continue my career in the U.S. In the meantime, I transitioned to a postdoctoral position studying invasive species, working under an Optional Practical Training extension—a program that allows student visa holders in STEM to work in the U.S. for up to 2 years after finishing their degree.

Still, I wanted to visit Venezuela. My husband and I had welcomed our first son, and my biggest dream was to take him to meet my mother; her cancer had metastasized to her bones, leaving her too weak to travel. But until I had my green card, I could not leave the U.S. Under my student visa extension, I would not be allowed to re-enter the country. My husband and I spent countless hours navigating the immigration system, reading confusing guidelines, filling out dozens of forms, triple checking instructions. I lived in a constant state of waiting, hoping my green card would be approved.

In June, new regulations and a travel ban triggered warnings from my university’s international office, warning that my visa could be revoked at any moment and further discouraging international travel. I was advised to speak with immigration attorneys. For the first time, I began to question whether I truly belonged in the U.S. I even became self-conscious about my accent and appearance.

The clock was ticking. My mother’s health was deteriorating rapidly. Each morning, I checked my green card status. I was desperate to see her one more time. But the most consistent advice remained: Do not leave. A few weeks later, my mother passed away. I never got to say goodbye, and she never met my son.

I find comfort in believing my mother was proud that the curious girl she raised had followed her dream of becoming a scientist and turned that curiosity into a career. And although some may see me, and others like me, as invasive pests, I choose to focus on a different aspect of my study species: Even in foreign lands, it’s possible to survive, adapt, and thrive.

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