Archive March 27, 2025

We contrast Donald Trump’s criticism of Hillary Clinton for exposing the leak of sensitive information to a reporter with Donald Trump’s criticism of her for having little to say when top US officials accidentally leaked information to a reporter.

It must be spam, of course. That’s what 37-year-old Ranjani Srinivasan thought when she first received an email from the United States consulate in Chennai, the southern Indian city where the Columbia University PhD candidate is from.

Before she went to bed, Srinivasan’s tired eyes had caught the email, which arrived at midnight. But on Thursday, March 6, at about 7: 50am in New York City, it was almost the first thing she saw when she stirred awake in her Columbia-owned apartment. She reached for her phone, which was glowing in the hazy morning light. And then she saw it – the email that had been waiting for her all night.

No one else had received any similar emails about their visas, so she asked her PhD cohort on their WhatsApp group to check. Now uneasy, Srinivasan promptly entered her details into the US online immigration website. It stated that my visa had been revoked,&nbsp. That’s when I started getting scared”, she recalls.

After Homeland Security Secretary Kristi Noem claimed she was a “terrorist sympathiser,” her name and grainy airport camera image made headlines for ten days and caused ten days of confusion and fear for Srinivasan.

By then, Srinivasan was in Canada, staying with friends and family, having flown out of New York on March 11, four days before Noem’s post, after concluding that she could be arrested – even though the US government has still not made clear whether she is accused of any crime. She refutes the claim that she supports terrorists, but she argues that her visa was voided because of Palestinian support online as Israel’s brutal conflict with Gaza persisted.

And she recalls how she spent those final few days in New York before she left, unable to sleep and barely able to eat, jumping at every strange noise – a life she does not want to risk returning to.

The knock on the door

She emailed Columbia’s International Students and Scholars Office (ISSO) to get clarification on what the visa revocation meant for her status in the US at around 8:30 am. There was no emergency hotline to call.

I emailed my dean and adviser, everyone, when they didn’t respond. They had to pressure ISSO to respond”.

She finally heard back until late afternoon. In their written response, the ISSO assured her that she was “perfectly fine” and that her Form I-20 – the fundamental document that foreign students in the US need to stay there legally – remained valid.

She was then instructed to set up an appointment with an adviser by the ISSO. Initially, they offered her a slot for the following Tuesday. The office then moved the meeting and set it for Thursday, March 7 as the subject matter was urgent, but she insisted that it was.

At 10: 30am the next day, she logged onto a Zoom call with the ISSO representative, who reassured her again that her Form I-20 was still valid.

Ranjani recalls that “I felt much lighter” when I learned this information. “I started planning when I could go back to the field]for research]”. Her visa, which had originally been scheduled to expire in August 2025, was renewed until 2029. She wondered about possible reasons why her visa had been revoked.

She recalls thinking, “Maybe they just gave me an excessive amount of visa.”

“All these things were running through my head. I was thinking about whether I should start guiding my 60 students after they finish their education.

But 10 minutes into the Zoom call, there was a knock on the door.

Her American flatmate, who was at home at the time, thought the knock had something peculiar going for it. “Without opening the door, she asked them to identify themselves”, Srinivasan says.

Without providing credentials, the door-openers first made up their identities as police, then as “supervisor,” according to Srinivasan. When the flatmate asked: “Supervisor of what”?, they responded: “Immigration”, according to Srinivasan’s account.

They stated in a statement from the other side of the door that they intended to file a motion to remove her from the US and that her visa had been revoked. They eventually left, and though they never fully identified themselves, Srinivasan is convinced they were Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) agents.

“I freaked out,” Why is ICE at my door? You reside in residential housing in Columbia, which you would undoubtedly consider to be secure. So the fact that they were able to enter Columbia’s residential area without a warrant was terrifying”, she says.

Srinivasan informed the ISSO adviser right away that she was still on the call. “She had an expression of shock”, Srinivasan says. She then muted and began frantically calling people.

When the ISSO adviser unmuted, she handed Srinivasan a list of lawyers and advised her to call Public Safety – the campus security guards. She was given a warning from Public Safety to keep her away from ICE agents and to “file a report” from them. But that did little to reassure her.

According to Kendall Easley, a representative for Columbia’s ISSO, “law enforcement must have a judicial warrant to enter non-public University areas, including residential University buildings,” in a statement to Al Jazeera.

Yet, Srinivasan says, “they]law enforcement officers] were on campus”.

“At this point, I realized that no one was actually helping me.” I sat in the flat for two more hours, extremely scared – jumpy. Any noise in the corridor, which I suspected they were returning with a warrant, made me flinch because the walls of our building aren’t very thick.

Unable to shake the fear of being detained at any moment, she packed quickly and left for a location that Srinivasan does not want to disclose. No time was wasted on sentimentality; instead, she made a quiet exit carrying her laptop bag, her PhD notebook, a few chargers, a small carry-on, a few clothes, a bottle of shampoo, and a pair of tampons. “I just took the bag I randomly grab every day for the PhD office”, she recalls.

She left Cricket, her beloved cat, her furniture, all of her other things, and the Indian groceries she had ordered the night before, all in the apartment she had called home since 2021.

The last straw

Srinivasan says that Danielle Smoller, the dean of student affairs at the Graduate School of Architecture, Planning, and Preservation, called her on March 7 after hearing from public safety about the visit by immigration officials.

She expressed sympathy, but she acknowledged that Columbia and ISSO were not in control, according to Srinivasan. According to her, Columbia made no further effort to contact her.

Srinivasan’s complaint that Columbia made little more effort to assist her did not specifically receive an answer from Al Jazeera. “Columbia has taken and will continue to take all necessary steps to ensure our international students and scholars know they are welcomed on our campus and in our community”, Easley, the spokesperson, said. We are proud of our long tradition of welcoming international scholars and students to our educational, professional, and professional development programs.

That’s not what it felt like to Srinivasan.

The agents came back on March 8 at 6:20 p.m., once more without a warrant. “My flatmate told me they said, ‘ We’re going to keep coming every day until we can put you in removal proceedings, ‘” Srinivasan says. According to what she told Srinivasan, the flatmate did not speak to the agents.

That same day, Mahmoud Khalil, a Palestinian graduate who had a Green Card – making him a permanent resident of the US – was arrested from Columbia housing. Kalil had taken the lead during the pro-Palestinian protests on campus for the previous year.

“The moment Mahmoud got arrested, it sent shockwaves across the Columbia community. He has a Green Card, according to Srinivasan. “That’s when I realised I have no rights in this system at all. They only had a short while to get hold of me.

” The thing is, I didn’t even know Mahmoud. She says she didn’t even know his name when he vanished. But what truly unsettled me was that Columbia already knew ICE was operating on campus – yet seemed uninterested in intervening and even appeared to be colluding with them before Mahmoud disappeared. “

Srinivasan received a notification from ISSO on March 9 that her student status had been terminated. Columbia followed by officially withdrawing her enrolment and notifying her to vacate university housing.

Srinivasan was aware of the end of her time serving in the US. She wasn’t about to wait to be deported. She flew to Canada on March 11 using a visitor visa she had obtained for earlier academic conferences and workshops.

perceived as a “terrorist sympathizer.”

Once she was out of the US, Srinivasan’s lawyers notified ICE of her departure on March 14. In response, ICE demanded proof.

Her lawyers were still compiling proof of her departure when, on March 14, Noem posted a now-viral security camera clip of Srinivasan at LaGuardia airport. She was described as a “terrorist sympathizer,” stating that those who promote terrorism and violence “must not be allowed to remain in the US.”

The accusation stunned Srinivasan”. She says that this was the first time I heard such speculative expressions in a recognized voice. If supporting the idea of human rights or ending a genocide is equated with supporting Hamas, then anyone in proximity to me – without me having done anything – can just be picked up and made an example of. “

She believes that her speech and the rest of her social media activity, which included posts and shares of content criticizing Israel’s actions in Gaza, were intended as a target. While she had signed several open letters supporting Palestinian rights, she insists she was never part of any organised campus group. She claims she wasn’t even in the US for the majority of April 2024 when student-led demonstrations grew across campuses despite having previously participated in pro-Palestine protests.

The official announcement also claimed that she had” self-deported “using the newly launched US Customs and Border Protection (CBP) Home app, which allows undocumented immigrants to submit an ‘ intent to depart ‘ form and leave voluntarily. However, Srinivasan claims she had never heard of the app.

Al Jazeera reached out to the Department of Homeland Security (DHS) with a series of questions: On what specific grounds was Srinivasan’s visa revoked? She had the reasons in advance. And does DHS have evidence linking her to activities that warranted such action? The department has yet to respond.

” The tweet was the first time I could clearly see that they had linked me to the protests, “she says.

The union that represents more than 3, 000 graduate and undergraduate student employees at the Ivy League university, Student Workers of Columbia (UAW Local 2710), stated in a statement to Al Jazeera, “Ranjani’s case exposes a dangerous precedent.”

” There is an exception being created for protests where anyone who even speaks about Palestine is targeted. “

According to the union, graduate students on campuses today are feeling more vulnerable. International students, in particular, feel disposable – at the mercy of the state, with no protection or support from the university, “the statement said.

Columbia allegedly allowed this oppression, according to SWC. Trump abducted our classmates and cut our research funding – but he couldn’t have done this if Columbia hadn’t fueled the lie that anti-Zionism is antisemitism, inflaming hate against pro-Palestine protests.

International and undocumented students are hesitant to leave their homes, attend classes, study in laboratories, or even work there, according to the statement. “Fighting for Ranjani’s reinstatement”, it said, “isn’t just about basic rights – it’s about our survival”.

Srinivasan’s anxiety increased as a result of her concerns about how she would tell her parents the news in the week leading up to her departure for Canada. She wanted to control how her family learned about the situation, and feared that the media might get to know first. She eventually called her parents and mother to let them know that ICE was looking after her, but she assured them that she was okay. Of course, now they know the whole story”, she says.

Fear persisted as soon as the DHS tweet was published. Her parents were worried for their safety even in Chennai, and left to stay with relatives, unsure how to respond. We are a typical family, people. Who would ever imagine something like this happening to them”? Says Srinivasan.

Their fears weren’t unfounded. Misinformation increased as the tweet spread, especially in the Indian media, where rumors and false reports about her name only heightened their concern. It was only after things began to settle, after they started feeling safer, that her parents returned home.

Srinivasan is unsure whether she would feel secure returning to the US to finish her PhD, despite the reinstatement of her visa and Columbia’s reinstatement of her enrollment. “I hope Columbia comes to its senses and re-enrols me”, she says. I don’t even need to be in the US for my PhD because all the requirements are met. So I’m trying to appeal to Columbia to do that”.

Regardless of what occurs, Srinivsan experiences a strong sense of betrayal.

Harare, Zimbabwe – Every morning, Dumisani Ngara* boarded a bus to work for the Ministry of National Housing and Social Amenities in Zimbabwe at 6 a.m. The government-provided bus is free for civil servants in Harare, and on his $250 monthly salary, he tries to save every cent he can.

Once at work, Ngara, who is dressed neatly in a suit and tie, ensures that all paperwork is in order before the office opens at 8:30 am. He takes breaks between meetings and paperwork. At 1pm, he opens a lunchbox packed with rice and meat he prepared at home.

The majority of our time is spent working to the best of our ability. I enjoy doing it. It comes also with job security”, said the 48-year-old husband and father of three.

However, by 5 o’clock in the evening, Ngara is rushing home to a restroom in the cross street, where he changed into sweatpants and a T-shirt, before walking four blocks to meet his oldest son at a pavement stall in the city center. Thereafter, they offer groceries to passing customers.

Ngara’s side hustle is a secret, as Zimbabwean government workers are restricted from holding other jobs. However, he claims that single-source income is difficult to come by.

Ngara has worked for the government since 2010 but has found it difficult to make ends meet since 2019 as his salary has fallen and his inflation rate has increased.

To afford rent and other expenses, his family had to make a plan.

Ngara compared the central business district to the fact that “my wife likes to sell fruits and vegetables at home while I do it after work here in the CBD.”

Salaries are “pathetic,” according to the statement.

Not on their own, the Ngaras.

Out on Harare’s streets, a growing number of civil servants are turning to vending once their official workday ends.

Ngara arrives home around 8 o’clock, but the majority of the time is worked until 9 or 10 o’clock.

Many teachers are turning to vending for employment. Takavafira Zhou is the president of the Progressive Teachers Union of Zimbabwe and says teachers are taking on these extra, informal jobs because “salaries are pathetic” and “families cannot make ends meet”.

People are “failing&nbsp, to pay for their families, to pay medical bills, to pay for rentals,” he said. Government employees have developed strategies for surviving, therefore.

According to Zhou, “the majority of government workers” have now turned to some sort of vending, although there is no data to confirm this.

Zimbabwe’s informal sector accounts for 20% of employment and 18% of the country’s gross domestic product (GDP), according to ZimStats, the government statistics agency. However, experts claim that Zimbabweans’ majority work in the informal sector and that the government underplays the numbers.

“It is a situation where you have a choice to starve or to find survival methods, bearing in mind that the employer is uncaring”, Zhou added, accusing the state of offering unreasonable salaries and not improving working conditions for teachers.

Most Zimbabwean civil servants, including teachers, made a basic monthly salary of about $ 540 before November 2018.

However, the government has no longer offers fully US dollar-pegged payments in the wake of the economic downturn in 2019. Salaries are now split into two portions: a US dollar (USD) component – $160 for most civil servants – and an amount in local currency, which equals less than $100 when converted.

We are in a jungle, you say?

Late one afternoon, Ngara and his 21-year-old son spread out their wares on the pavement in front of registered supermarkets and stores selling the same goods they do.

The government introduced a new gold-backed currency, the ZiG, last year, and put stricter restrictions on foreign currency use in an effort to combat hyperinflation. Registered stores must either trade in the local currency or use the official USD exchange rates as a result.

Informal vendors, meanwhile, use black market exchange rates, meaning their products are cheaper for customers. Additionally, they exchange hard USD money. Because they prefer to purchase from vendors and prefer to use local bills, the majority of Zimbabweans prefer using USD notes.

“We do not accept the local currency”, explained Tariro Musekiwa, a street vendor sitting on a cardboard box, who only trades in USD.

Consumers can get more for less on the informal market by purchasing from the official exchange rate of $1 to $26.40, while the unofficial black-market rate ranges from 36 to 40 ZiG per USD.

According to Musekiwa, who sells soaps, cordial drinks, and yoghurts, consumers need to pay less for goods. Because the same products are more expensive in stores, he believes the vendors are offering an important service.

Ngara concured. Every street and corner is filled with people selling something, according to the saying. So I try to sell goods which sell quickly at lower prices”, he said.

The fittest survives in the jungle, according to the saying.

However, the influx of vendors hasn’t been a blessing for registered store owners.

Trymore Chirozva, the manager at Food World, a supermarket retailer in Harare, expressed dismay that vendors sell similar products outside on the pavement.

He noted that, in recent years, vendors have become mini-stores, which have had an impact on our company, as opposed to prior times when they would only sell fruits and vegetables.

Less than 200 vendors can be found at just five of Harare’s CBD’s official vending locations. Yet, thousands of informal vendors flock to the streets every day.

Ngara and many others claim to find ways to circumvent the law when they operate without official permits. The officers simply demand some bribes, or they might just pass [us] by.

closing of large corporations

Chirozva thinks that vendors are not subject to the same strict regulations as large corporations, which is why stores like his are negatively impacted.

Patience Maodza, an economist, believes vendors are leveraging on the regulation gap.

The government “overregulates shops,” according to the statement, “causing] an unfair business environment for registered entities that are tax compliant.”

Leading regional clothing and chain stores in Zimbabwe have been shut down in the past 12 months, most of whom blame two factors: the ban on using USD and the influx of vendors who are taking over their businesses without the government’s approval.

One of Zimbabwe’s largest wholesale hardware companies, N Richards Group, has closed two branches.

The N Richards Group’s director Archie Dongo claimed that the government is overburdening those who already pay taxes in a statement to Zimbabwe’s parliament.

Reduce the head tax rate and the tax rate, while obtaining that amount from the largest possible number of players. In that way, we will not have a problem of fiscal mobilisation in the economy, we actually believe we’ll get more tax that way”, Dongo said.

The top supermarket chain in the country, OK Zimbabwe, has struggled to restock its branches over the past year, a problem that was made worse by the introduction of the ZiG, which has impacted supply chains and pricing structures. In January, the company shut down five of its supermarkets.

Economist Kajiva believes that the government’s economic policies have played “a significant role” in the business sector’s struggles.

He claimed that the policy has caused businesses, including major retailers like OK Zimbabwe and N Richards, to experience significant pressure.

Due to the difficult economic climate and tight fiscal conditions, these businesses were forced to reduce their size.

“Something tangible,”

Traditional workers struggle as do traditional businesses.

While many like Ngara are embracing side hustles, some have abandoned their government jobs altogether.

Portia Mbano, 39, formerly of the government, transitioned to full-time vendor work.

She initially began selling goods after work hours in small batches. But she soon realised she was “ageing and needs something tangible”.

She said, “I realized that I was losing a lot by working at the office rather than taking this job full-time.”

From a pavement stall in the CBD, she now sells a variety of groceries and small household items.

Samuel Mangoma, the director of Vendors Initiative for Social and Economic Transformation (VISET), an organisation advancing the rights of informal economy workers across Africa, told Al Jazeera there has been a “sharp rise” in street vendors in central Harare.

He claimed that this is because there aren’t as many opportunities for formal employment and that many people are now “finding refuge in the informal sector.”

He disapproves of vendors who sell the same goods for lower prices while operating in front of stores, though.

“People are trying to survive in this very difficult economic environment. However, we don’t encourage our members to occupy spaces in front of large retailers and grocery stores. He reaffirmed that we encourage our members to work from locations where it is necessary to avoid conflict with other business players.

Nevertheless, out on the streets, government workers continue to set up their informal shops, with Ngara saying he plans to continue until his family is stable enough to survive without it.

Ngara said, “I need my son to attend college and to own property for my family, so I need both jobs until that time.”

“We continue the cat and mouse game despite the challenges we face on the streets, including the government’s attempts to remove us from the CBD, at least for the moment,” said the council.