I Escaped the War in Syria, But I’m Still in Visa Limbo.

by Ghada Mukdad, as told to Rachel Glickhouse. This essay has been edited and condensed.

I didn’t want to leave my country. We came to spend summer vacation to the U.S., and things at home got worse and worse. I stayed here with my three children, while my husband refused to leave Syria. Seven months later, my husband came and joined us. He is a doctor, so people there know we have money. They had started to threaten us; they threatened to kidnap one of my kids for ransom.

The revolution started in 2011. We never thought the war would be bloody the way it is right now. And everything I tried to do there was stopped. I tried to open a school; they wouldn’t allow me; I tried to start an organization, they wouldn’t allow me. Now, I am a peace activist. I recently met Hillary Clinton, and I’ve spoken to my local congresswoman about Syrian issues and the refugee crisis. I’ve received a lot of threats because of my work.

When we came to the U.S., we all came on a B tourist visa. I visit the U.S. regularly for vacations or to spend the summer, and every time I would go back to my country. I never thought I would stay that long in the United States.

I’ve had the B visa since 1999. My sister and brother live here, and my mother used to; she is a U.S. citizen. (In 2014, my mom went back to Syria. I have a brother and a sister still there, and she feared for their lives. She said: “What happens to them will happen to me.”) Because my mother is a citizen, I could get a green card through her. But an attorney told me it will take years to get approved; four, five or six years.

So first, we extended our visa for six months, and the second renewal allowed for another six months. The third time, I consulted with an attorney, and he said it’s not allowed. But I applied to renew it anyway, and they accepted it.

When the government announced Temporary Protected Status (TPS) for Syrians, we applied, back in May 2013. It gives you 18 months of being able to live and work legally in the U.S. Eligibility for TPS depends on when you entered the country; if you come one day after the allowed date, you can’t apply.

Our cases are still pending, and we don’t know how long it will take.

TPS does not lead to a green card, and you cannot bring your family over with this status. I know a pharmacist who fled Syria and applied for asylum, and was denied. He tried again and he got his approval. The problem is he spent more than a year waiting, but he couldn’t bring his wife or family because he had TPS. Three months ago he was finally approved to bring his family.

When you come as a refugee to the U.S., you have to go to an attorney because you don’t know which status may be right for you: asylum, humanitarian parole, TPS. I never thought it cost so much for a lawyer — $5,000 or $10,000 just to apply for asylum. (I know a husband and wife who are both lawyers and found an immigration attorney. He asked for $10,000 for an asylum application.) Plus, you have to pay $380 for an application for TPS. It’s a big number. Many people didn’t bring money with them.

I did bring my money with me because from the very beginning, it was as if we were going to stay here, but we were prepared as if we are going back tomorrow. So we invested here, and we have a good life in the United States. Without that, I don’t think that we could stay long. Many people prefer to go back home because they face so much difficulty here, like working for the minimum wage.

I know a lot of people in the Syrian community here. Many don’t know anything about the law here, and need someone to depend on. Syrians don’t know who to ask. You can contact a pro-bono attorney but you are not going to find any. Most refugee services are accessible for those who received protected status or after they are granted asylum.

When a person applies for asylum, they have to do an interview with an immigration officer and say why they have a “credible fear” of going home. It really depends on the officer; it can be arbitrary. You put your life in the hands of the officer. For example, if you crossed the Syrian border safely without getting detained, the officer may say that your life isn’t in danger. Meanwhile, some people get threats because of their political opinions.

I know a family that fled to Lebanon and they got a visa to the U.S. The officer asked why the husband feared going back, and he said he don’t want to serve in the Syrian army. They were approved. On the other hand, I know a young man, a law school graduate from Damascus and an activist working against Assad. He came here on a B visa and applied for asylum. The officer asked him, “Why do you fear going back?” He told him he was being followed and getting threats. The officer said no, and he had to go to court. Then there was another case of a demonstrator who fled and came here. He got his asylum approval after 15 days.

Syrians in the U.S. are asking each other what to do. I tell them to apply for everything: apply for TPS, extend your visa. You have to be legal here. That’s because if the government ends TPS for Syria, you go back to the immigration status you had before, and you may have to leave the country.

A lot of people don’t know how to apply for legal status, or that you need proof to show you were persecuted. It’s not enough to say you’re an ethnic minority, for example, and fear going back. How does a person who flees a country prove he was detained or tortured? How can you prove it? There are many cases of people who were denied just because they didn’t convince the officer. Most refugees are seeking a safe haven for their families and themselves. Why don’t we make it easier?

I believe refugees are afraid to speak about their experience because if they announce they applied for political asylum in the U.S., the regime may follow them or their family. I know activists in the U.S. and Europe whose families have been followed or killed in Syria because of their work. They killed their brothers, their sisters, their fathers. We don’t know who is who anymore. It’s total chaos right now; we don’t know who to trust. We need years to rebuild the bridge of trust between each other.

The other problem is getting work authorization and professional licenses. For example, my husband has been a urologist for 23 years. But he has to go back to school and pass a difficult test to practice medicine, but he already failed twice. He’s not giving up, though: he’s going to take it for the third time. I also heard about a doctor fired from a hospital because his work authorization had expired. What work will he do now? How is he going to feed his family? We know other families who need food and furniture. It breaks my heart. Even getting driver’s licenses can be a challenge; my son’s driver’s license expired in September and he can’t renew it until our status goes through. I’m worried about him driving and getting stopped by the police.

Also, it’s hard to afford college. My son is in his first year of university, but he can’t get a scholarship because of his status. Even for an American family, tuition is very expensive. Also, I’m getting my Master’s degree, but I couldn’t get a scholarship because of my status, either.

With all these difficulties, I have to say that I couldn’t do anything without the amazing Americans who surround me: my neighbors, my community, people at my kids’ school. You cannot imagine how helpful they are. I wish I had a TV channel just to tell the people of Syria how much support I get. There are no words in the world to explain my feelings toward them.