I’ve been at NAFSA all week.
Thousands of us are here – colleagues, competitors, collaborators – gathered in the name of international education. The sessions are packed. The buzzwords are loud. Everyone’s talking about geopolitics, declining visa approvals, the future of recruitment, AI, and of course, the state of the field itself.
There’s concern. There’s optimism. There’s strategy.
But beneath the noise, there’s a palpable sense of unease – a growing realization that we’re playing defense. That the ground is shifting beneath us. That the stories we tell ourselves – about openness, global engagement, and the promise of education – are colliding with a political and moral reality we’ve been reluctant to fully confront.
And this week, that collision became impossible to ignore.
As if on cue, the Trump administration ordered U.S. embassies and consulates to pause all student visa appointments until new vetting procedures for social media accounts are implemented. A day later, it was announced that several Chinese students already holding visas would have them revoked.
And the reactions? Alarming. Concerning.
Because, before we talk about equity.
Before we talk about opportunity.
Before we talk about the actual students – their aspirations, their contributions, their humanity.
We talk about money.
Because for many institutions, the most immediate concern when policy shifts is not the erosion of global learning or the closing of minds – but the loss of revenue.
And that should tell us something.
It should tell us that the very way we defend international students – transactionally, economically, performatively – might be part of the problem.
We keep going back to the same line: “They contribute $44 billion to the U.S. economy.”
It’s our shield. Our justification. Our go-to slide in every deck.
But what if it’s not enough?
What if the very argument we’ve clung to is the one that’s keeping us from seeing the truth?
What if international students vanished tomorrow, what would it really cost us?
Not just in dollars. But in direction. In decency.
Would America really notice? Or care?
Not the students in classrooms or labs. Not the ideas sparked at 2am over ramen in dorm kitchens. Not the friendships that span continents. I mean the dollars. The $44 billion that international students supposedly “bring” to the U.S. economy each year.
That’s the number we wave around every time policies threaten to close the door a little tighter. We turn it into hashtags, infographics, press releases. We chant it like a shield – $44 billion! As if economic impact alone will save a system that is actively being dismantled.
But let’s be honest: $44 billion is nothing to the people who matter. Not in Washington. Not to a president whose worldview reduces immigrants to invaders and international students to Trojan horses. In a nation hurtling toward protectionism, fear, and economic nationalism, that number isn’t persuasive – it’s irrelevant.
So here’s the question we don’t ask enough:
What do we actually value about international students – and what are we willing to do to protect that value?
The Myth of the $44 Billion Argument
It sounds like a lot – because it is. Forty-four billion dollars is the estimated contribution of international students to the U.S. economy each year, factoring in tuition, living expenses, and indirect spending. For years, it’s been the go-to defense every time policy turns hostile. Whenever student visas are delayed, embassies shut down, or rhetoric heats up, higher education responds by shouting the number louder.
But here’s the problem: that number is meaningless in the rooms where decisions are actually made.
To the average voter – especially one whose worldview has been shaped by years of populist grievance – that number doesn’t feel like a gain. It feels like a threat. If it’s that much money, who’s losing out? Who’s being replaced? When the narrative isn’t framed carefully, the $44 billion talking point doesn’t win hearts. It triggers suspicion.
And to the people shaping U.S. policy, that number is barely a blip. In a federal budget approaching $7 trillion, $44 billion isn’t even a rounding error. Even if every dollar of that impact disappeared tomorrow, it wouldn’t shift national economic indicators. But it would win applause at rallies calling for tighter borders, more “American jobs,” and fewer “foreign infiltrators.”
So while we keep trying to defend international students with GDP arguments, the people we’re trying to convince are playing a different game. Their calculus isn’t about economics – it’s about optics, power, and narrative.
The truth is, we’ve relied on a transactional justification for something that was never meant to be transactional. International students aren’t just financial assets. They’re contributors to research, innovation, diplomacy, and mutual understanding. They are bridges in a world building more walls. But our defense of them has been reduced to a dollar sign – and that’s a fight we’re going to lose.
The Rise of Xenophobic Narratives
Listen closely to the rhetoric coming out of Washington, and you’ll hear it: international students are no longer seen as guests. They’re framed as threats.
It starts with the usual lines – “stealing jobs,” “taking spots from Americans,” “gaming the system.” But under the current administration, it’s gone much further. There are open accusations of espionage, targeted crackdowns on students from specific countries, and renewed efforts to restrict pathways to work and stay. The message is clear: you may be paying to be here, but we’re not sure you should be.
This isn’t campaign noise anymore. Trump is back in the White House – and he’s wasting no time. Embassies are tightening scrutiny. Programs like OPT and CPT are once more under siege. Administrative delays and denials are becoming the new norm, not the exception.
And the truth doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter that international students are more likely to start businesses than commit crimes. It doesn’t matter that they fund public universities or bolster U.S. research. In a political environment driven by grievance and zero-sum logic, nuance doesn’t stand a chance.
Instead of pushing back with courage, many universities retreat into the safety of familiarity: “We support our students.” “Diversity is our strength.” “Here’s a panel.” “Here’s a post.”
We act shocked, but this moment was years in the making. We ceded the narrative – and now it’s being rewritten without us.
The Higher Ed Echo Chamber
American international higher education knows how to look concerned. Statements are issued. Panels are hosted. Press releases drafted. LinkedIn glows with hashtags and humble brags from conference stages.
But then?
Nothing.
We go back to business as usual – chasing enrollments, optimizing pipelines, and clinging to the same slogans we’ve been using for two decades. We say we stand with international students, but we rarely fight for them. We advocate only when our budgets are at risk, not when our values are.
The system isn’t built for disruption. It’s built for choreography.
We don’t publicly challenge the growing narrative that international students are opportunists or intruders. We don’t create public campaigns to educate voters on why global education is critical to America’s future. We don’t confront our own contradictions – like the fact that many of us rely on a broken recruitment model built on short-term metrics, not long-term student outcomes.
We pat ourselves on the back for hosting students from 100+ countries. But we ignore the stories of burnout, isolation, discrimination, and disillusionment they face once they arrive.
This is what makes the outrage performative. Not because it’s fake – but because it’s safe.
We don’t need more statements. We need more spine.
A Reckoning and a Call
The house is on fire. And we can’t keep acting like it’s just a smoky room.
The value of international students is not up for debate – not in any serious, intellectually honest forum. They contribute to research, innovation, economic growth, cultural understanding, and global diplomacy. They are not just students. They are connectors. Catalysts. Sometimes even lifelines to struggling academic programs.
But if we want to protect them – and preserve the future of international education – we need to stop hiding behind numbers, platitudes, and performative outrage.
We need a reckoning.
Universities must stop defending global education only when it’s under attack and start reimagining it from the ground up. That means:
- Abandoning tired arguments like economic impact, and instead building public understanding of why international students matter to the nation’s future, not just its finances.
- Re-examining how we attract and support international students – ensuring transparency, ethical practices, and student-centered policies at every stage.
- Creating real institutional accountability so that international students are not just welcomed during orientation, but supported, represented, and protected throughout their journey.
- Speaking louder and with moral clarity – not just in echo chambers and conference ballrooms, but in town halls, legislatures, and the media.
This isn’t just about enrollment. It’s about identity. What kind of nation do we want to be? What kind of institutions do we want to lead?
If we truly believe in global education as a force for good, we have to prove it. With policy. With practice. With courage.
Because right now, the world is watching. And international students are listening.
And silence isn’t neutral – it’s complicity.
Ex Cogitatione, Progressus.
Girish
