When Donald Trump took office in 2016, the political shockwaves reverberated far beyond the United States, reshaping perceptions of America as the land of opportunity. For many of us, navigating the complexities of identity and belonging as Black international students, it marked a seismic shift. Fresh out of a graduate program at American University (AU), a predominantly white institution (PWI), I began my first job in global education. Suddenly, my identity as a Black, non-immigrant woman came under scrutiny in ways I had not experienced before. The polarized political environment forced me to grapple with questions of belonging in an increasingly complex environment.
Fast forward to today, and I find myself at Howard University (HU), one of 101 Historically Black Colleges and Universities (HBCUs) in the United States. The contrast between my graduate experience at AU and my current life at Howard is stark. At Howard, I have been welcomed into a community that nurtures my Afro-Caribbean heritage and provides the empowerment and affirmation missing from my time at a PWI. For Black international students like me, HBCUs offer something invaluable: sanctuary in an America still grappling with racial and political divisions.
Jody Dixon
The immigration policies of Trump’s first presidency weren’t just theoretical—they tore at the fabric of my family. In 2020, my sister, a teacher in Georgia, was forced to leave the U.S. after the Trump administration froze green cards and visas for foreign workers. An H1-B visa, a lifeline for her new job, became unattainable overnight. Only through tireless advocacy by local chambers of commerce, Congressional representatives in Georgia, and other community leaders, who recognized the dire need for teachers during the pandemic, was she able to return.
Her story mirrors those of many others caught in the "in-between," as lives were disrupted by policies rooted in xenophobia and economic scapegoating. For Black international students, such policies only deepen systemic barriers, forcing many to navigate prolonged uncertainty. These experiences underscore how anti-immigrant rhetoric, amplified during election cycles, reduces people like us to caricatures and scapegoats while erasing the nuanced, deeply human stories of our contributions to this country.
For Black international students, systemic barriers intersect with race, geography, and immigration policy. The challenges are starkly illustrated by data. The 2024 Open Doors Report highlights a substantial increase in students from the Black global diaspora, specifically African students studying in the United States. Nigeria, Ghana, and Kenya are among the top sending countries. Approximately 56,780 students from Sub-Saharan Africa were enrolled in U.S. institutions in the 2023-2024 academic year—a remarkable 13.1% increase from the previous year. Similarly, countries in the Afro-Caribbean, like Jamaica, saw an 8% increase in enrollment numbers, reflecting a strong demand for U.S. education. These students bring immense financial value, contributing billions annually to the U.S. economy.
Despite this, visa denial rates for African students remain disproportionately high. In 2022, 50% of African student visa applications were denied, compared to just 10% for European applicants. Countries like Ethiopia (78%), Nigeria (75%), and Ghana (63%) face particularly high rejection rates. Immigration lawyer Leon Fresco encapsulated the frustration, asking:
“Is this happening by inertia? Is this happening because [U.S. officials] wanted it to happen? We just want people to know there’s this disparity … [and] start the process of fixing it.”
