When H.K. first came to the US more than eight years ago, her native Yemen was mired in civil war. Today, that war has become a second front in President Trump’s conflict with Iran, further straining global oil supplies and the broader economy.
But for H.K., a beneficiary of Temporary Protected Status (TPS) until the Trump administration ended the program this year, the war and its impacts are more personal.
“It is difficult to watch the situation in Yemen and around the Red Sea continue to escalate, especially when you have family and loved ones there,” said H.K. “Even from far away, the conflict never really feels distant.”
H.K. (who has asked to remain anonymous as she fears speaking out may harm her pending asylum case) initially arrived in the US with a scholarship to study at a prestigious university. She had planned to return to Yemen after graduation to resume humanitarian work there.
Yet as violence in the country escalates between the Iran-backed Houthis and a Yemeni government backed by Saudi Arabi, return has become an increasingly dangerous proposition.
Today, as the US and Iran continue to battle for control over the geopolitically strategic Strait of Hormuz, the Houthis have stepped up their attacks both inside the country and against neighboring gulf states, including Saudi Arabia. The violence is once again threatening to reignite Yemen’s long running internecine conflict.
“Every new round of attacks brings back the uncertainty and fear that so many Yemenis have lived with for years,” says H.K., who applied for TPS in 2022. The following year she submitted an asylum application as fighting between the two sides began to intensify following a short-lived U.N. brokered peace process.
A Supreme Court ruling in late May of this year green lighted the Trump administration’s efforts to end TPS for a host of countries, Yemen among them. The program, intended for people fleeing violence or natural disasters in their home countries, has been a key target in Trump’s broader immigration crackdown largely targeting migrants from non-Western countries.
To date the administration has ended TPS for 13 out of 17 countries that once carried the designation. Until its termination in July, there were an estimated 3,200 Yemenis with TPS in the US.
For most, TPS’s termination means both the threat of deportation and the loss of employment status. But with an asylum application still pending, H.K. has been able to keep her work authorization though she has struggled to hold on to a job.
After graduation, she was hired by the university where she obtained her bachelor’s degree. Under rules for foreign students, she was able to stay and work at the university she attended for a year after graduation. When her university employment ended, H.K. found work at a Yemeni coffee shop as a barista. She says her uncertain status played a role in her boss’s initial decision not to keep her on, though he has since rehired her.
But H.K. notes the Trump administration is seeking to subject asylum seekers’ ability to work to greater scrutiny. A final rule has not yet been issued. Already, however, the administration has shortened the length of work permits from 5 years to 18 months, and renewals are no longer automatic.
The wait for her asylum case to be adjudicated, meanwhile, appears indefinite.
According to TRAC, which aggregates data on issues including immigration, US Citizenship and Immigration Services (USCIS) is currently staring down a backlog of more than 3 million asylum applications even as the Trump administration has actively worked to thin out the ranks of current immigration judges.
Pending applications can take anywhere from 4 years and often up to or more than 6 years to process as a result.
“I know people who applied ten to twenty years ago,” said H.K., adding she has yet to have an interview. “The difficult part is not being able to leave this country; for almost 9 years I haven’t seen my family … I have to accept the idea I may not see my family again.”
Adding to her concerns are reports over the past several months of arrests of asylum seekers at major international airports.
The administration defends the policy, citing official ICE guidelines which state, “Asylum is one form of legal status, but applying for asylum doesn’t mean a person has legal status.”
H.K. personally knows people who have been arrested by ICE, and fears for her own safety. “This was shocking for everyone,” she said.
Compounding matters further are administration efforts to restrict or freeze the processing of asylum cases for people from more than three dozen countries subject to the president’s travel ban. While federal courts have rejected these efforts, advocates say it remains uncertain the administration will comply.
“The issue I see is that we have little more than USCIS’ word that they will follow the court order in good faith,” said Ariana Smith, staff attorney at East Bay Sanctuary Covenant, which provides free or low-cost services to low-income refugee and immigrant communities. She added, “There is little, if any, oversight over the agency.”
H.K. says the challenges of the past several years make it difficult for her to look ahead.
“It’s been 8 years adjusting to a new system and culture,” she said, adding that in this time she has been “barely able to stand on my feet.”
Now, as Yemen is pulled deeper into what analysts warn is becoming a broader regional war, and as the Trump administration continues to turn the screws on immigrants legal or otherwise in the US, she remains caught.
“We’re all fleeing our country to come here for protection,” said H.K. “We are now seeking protection from this country.”
LI LOVETT
Li was a project manager with ACoM where she helped lead a cohort of media across California as part of the Aquí Estamos initiative. She now works as a legislative aide in the office of San Francisco Supervisor Jackie Fielder where she continues to focus on issues impacting immigrant communities.
