Without passport privilege: a personal journey through global inequality

“This is the first time I’ve seen this passport.”, “This passport won’t take you anywhere.” These are comments I have often heard from airport staff during my travels, reflecting a harsh and painful reality faced by millions around the world. The strength of a passport is far more than just a matter of convenience; it often determines one’s access to safety, opportunity, and freedom.

According to the Henley Passport Index, the Somali passport ranks among the weakest globally, allowing visa-free or visa-on-arrival access to only 32 countries. In stark contrast, passports from countries such as Japan, South Korea, Denmark, and Singapore provide seamless entry to over 190 countries worldwide. This disparity is not merely bureaucratic but is emblematic of a system steeped in inequality and historical power imbalances.

Traveling with a Somali passport is not only inconvenient but also mentally and emotionally exhausting. In today’s world, the power of your passport often defines your global mobility, your safety, and sometimes even your dignity. This phenomenon, which I refer to as “passport privilege,” creates an uneven playing field where those born with certain passports can move freely, while others face barriers, suspicion, and humiliation at every step.

I was born without this privilege. Growing up in Somaliland, my opportunities to explore the world were limited not by a lack of desire or ambition, but by the passport I held. Applying for visas became a recurring source of anxiety. Each application meant gathering an exhaustive list of documents, paying high fees, and often traveling across borders just to visit an embassy. This process was as costly financially as it was taxing emotionally.

Upon arrival at Dulles International Airport, a security officer told me, “I can’t find this passport in our database, and the chip isn’t working.”

Passport privilege can be defined as the ability to travel freely and with dignity simply because of the passport one possesses. It is a silent gatekeeper to the world, a power that is unequally distributed and often invisible to those who benefit from it.

In 2015, I received a full scholarship to attend high school in the United States. Excited and hopeful, I applied for a U.S. visa using my Somaliland passport. The process was complex and draining. I had to provide an acceptance letter, proof of accommodation, a Form I-20, round-trip tickets, scholarship documents, and more. Since there are no U.S. embassies operating in Somalia or Somaliland, I had to travel to Djibouti just to attend a visa interview. This added significant financial and logistical burdens. Many like me face similar challenges having to navigate a visa system that offers little support or understanding to holders of weaker passports.

After months of uncertainty, I was finally granted a student visa. Yet, it was not stamped in my passport. Instead, it came printed on a fragile sheet of A4 paper. I carried it everywhere, terrified of losing this single sheet, my only proof of legal entry.

Upon arrival at Dulles International Airport, a security officer told me, “I can’t find this passport in our database, and the chip isn’t working.” At that moment, I felt the full weight of passport privilege crushing me, the power of a document to affirm or deny my presence, to reduce my identity to a mere bureaucratic formality.

Eventually, I was allowed entry, but my visa remained on that fragile paper. My passport itself was ignored and unrecognized.

This experience is far from unique. Both the United States and the United Kingdom do not stamp visas into passports issued by Somalia or Somaliland. This lack of official recognition creates enormous challenges for citizens of these regions. Many Somalis and Somalilanders are forced to seek alternative citizenships or passports from Ethiopia, Djibouti, Kenya, or Western countries to gain the freedom of movement others take for granted.

However, acquiring these alternative passports is prohibitively expensive, often costing between $4,000 and $5,000. Only a privileged minority can afford such fees. For the majority, their passports remain largely symbolic documents that carry little international weight or utility.

The 2025 Global Passport Power Rank lists Afghanistan, Syria, Iraq, Yemen, and Somalia among the world’s weakest passports. This ranking reveals more than just travel restrictions; it exposes the lingering impact of colonial-era power dynamics. Passport privilege is not an objective measure of a country’s legitimacy or security; it is a system constructed and maintained by former colonial powers and global institutions dominated by the West.

Countries with weaker passports have minimal influence over the rules that govern global mobility. This power imbalance reflects broader geopolitical inequalities where former colonial powers continue to set standards, effectively controlling who can move freely and who cannot.

At its core, passport politics is a stark reflection of global inequality. Mobility, a fundamental human right, is treated as a privilege granted by those historically in control. This system perpetuates discrimination, limits opportunities for millions, and deepens social and economic divides.

Mobility, a fundamental human right, is treated as a privilege granted by those historically in control

Passport privilege affects more than just travel; it influences access to education, healthcare, employment, and safety. When people are denied the freedom to cross borders, their potential and aspirations are confined within artificial boundaries.

President Donald Trump’s reinstatement of the travel ban in 2025 has once again targeted several predominantly Muslim and African countries. This time, nationals from Afghanistan, Myanmar, Chad, Congo-Brazzaville, Equatorial Guinea, Eritrea, Haiti, Iran, Libya, Somalia, Sudan, and Yemen are barred from entering the United States.

Most of these countries already rank among those with the weakest passports in the world. Now, their citizens face even steeper barriers not only in travel but in access to global opportunities, especially in education.

Take Abaarso School in Somaliland, for example. Known for its rigorous academics, Abaarso has helped students earn full scholarships to top U.S. institutions such as Harvard, MIT, and the University of Pennsylvania. But this year, many of those students are unable to secure student visas. Despite their qualifications, they are being denied entry based solely on their nationality.

This policy sends a troubling message: that even the most promising young minds are not welcome if they come from the “wrong” country. The system of passport privilege is unjust and discriminatory. It demands urgent attention and change.

This year, many of Abaarso School students in Somaliland are unable to secure student visas. Despite their qualifications, they are being denied entry based solely on their nationality

African states, international organizations, and global advocates for justice must challenge the entrenched structures that uphold this system. Efforts should be made to increase recognition and mobility rights for citizens of all countries, especially those historically marginalized.

Furthermore, individuals, communities, schools, scholars, and intellectuals can play critical roles in raising awareness, advocating for reform, and fostering solidarity. By challenging the assumptions behind passport privilege and pushing for equitable policies, we can begin to dismantle barriers to global mobility.

No one should be judged or limited by the cover of their passport. Mobility should be a universal right, not a privilege reserved for a few. As the world becomes increasingly interconnected, it is imperative that we confront and address the systemic inequalities embedded in our global mobility frameworks.

The power of a passport should not be determined by the legacy of colonialism or the geopolitical interests of dominant nations, it should reflect the dignity and humanity of every individual.