Six years ago, I arrived in the United States as an international student, eager to pursue my education. Now, as a community advocate and a social worker training in California, I’ve come to understand that safety is not just a fundamental right but a necessity for wellbeing.
A secure environment allows people to thrive, but for many international students like myself safety is fragile. The very institutions meant to protect us often fall short.
In February Mahmoud Khalil, a graduate student at Columbia University, was arrested by Immigration and Customs Enforcement agents following his involvement in pro-Palestinian protests. Although he holds a green card and has no criminal charges, agents claimed the State Department had revoked that too.
If a permanent resident at a top university can have their status easily revoked, visa-holding students face even greater risks. The university failed to have clear protocols for protection, and international students were left isolated without adequate help.
California consistently ranks No. 1 in international student enrollment, benefiting culturally and economically from their presence. Yet recent federal policy shifts and escalating ICE activities have exacerbated student vulnerabilities.
In response institutions like the University of San Francisco have pledged to safeguard student information from federal immigration authorities, sharing data only under court order. The California State University system also has attempted to clarify its stance and released a seven-page FAQ outlining its policy responses in the event of raids, detentions, or deportation threats.
However these measures fail to adequately reach or reassure the students they are meant to protect. Many students remain unaware of their rights or the extent to which their universities can shield them.
Social media, not university communication, has become the primary source of information about ICE raids. Professors, too, are often uninformed about how to respond if ICE enters their classrooms.
Without a unified institutional communication strategy, misinformation spreads unchecked. First-generation Latino students at Cal Poly Pomona describe “walking on eggshells” due to the uncertainty surrounding potential enforcement actions.
Meanwhile universities claim to protect student privacy and limit cooperation with ICE, but their ability to intervene during an actual enforcement action is limited. Policies can shift under different federal administrations, and no formal emergency aid program exists at the state level to help students facing deportation or legal threats.
As a mental health specialist-in-training, I know that these safety concerns extend far beyond the legal risks — they erode mental wellbeing and limit student success.
The prolonged threat of deportation takes a profound psychological toll on international students, causing chronic stress, sleep disturbances and anxiety disorders. The constant fear of being targeted can push students into social isolation, alienation and difficulty in concentration. Living in an unfamiliar environment under an unsafe atmosphere stifles our personal growth and wellness.
Institutions must move beyond vague statements and take concrete steps to protect international students.
Nuo Chen is an international postgraduate student at the University of Southern California. She works as a mental health counselor for first-generation college students. She wrote this column for CalMatters.