The Trump Threat and the Indian-American Psyche
By Gajanan Khergamker
The Trump threat is no longer an abstract political concern; it is a lived psychological burden for the Indian diaspora in the United States. Students pursuing higher education, professionals on skilled-worker visas, spouses and dependants, and even naturalised citizens of Indian origin now find themselves grappling with an uncertainty that transcends policy and permeates everyday life. What distinguishes the current environment is not merely the content of immigration reforms but the unpredictability with which they are conceived, announced, and enforced.
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The most recent development in 2025 illustrates this shift: U.S. immigration authorities have begun vetting visa and green card applications for indicators of so-called “anti-Americanism.” The criteria remain undefined, granting officials a wide margin of discretion in their assessments. While presented as a national security measure, such initiatives effectively place applicants in a zone of perpetual suspicion, eroding the assurance that compliance with law alone suffices for legal status. For Indian applicants—who form the largest single national group in the H-1B programme and account for a significant proportion of U.S. graduate students in science and engineering, the implications are disproportionately severe.
This sense of insecurity is compounded by proposals under consideration to restructure the very pathways on which Indian migrants depend. The Optional Practical Training (OPT) programme, which allows international students to gain practical experience before transitioning to work visas, is under threat. Suggestions to abolish the H-1B lottery system and limit “duration of status” for students add further layers of precarity. Each of these measures strikes at the carefully calibrated migration cycle followed by Indian students and professionals - study, work experience, skilled employment, and eventual permanent residency. By destabilising the intermediate stages, the entire trajectory becomes fraught with risk.
The vulnerability is magnified by historical precedent. In June 2020, during Trump’s first term, Presidential Proclamation 10052 suspended entry into the United States for multiple non-immigrant categories, including H-1B, J-1, and L-1 visas. The justification was couched in terms of protecting American workers during the post-pandemic economic recovery. Yet the human cost was considerable. Families were separated, careers were interrupted, and businesses faced sudden shortages of skilled personnel. For the Indian diaspora, which had invested years in education and employment, the episode was a stark reminder that their status could be reversed overnight by executive decree. That memory continues to inform present anxieties, feeding a sense of precariousness even among those not directly affected.
It is within this context that the psychological dimension of the Trump threat becomes clear. Studies of political stress in the United States consistently identify the political climate as a leading cause of anxiety. For immigrants, however, the effects are far more acute. A citizen may perceive political instability as unsettling but ultimately external; an immigrant experiences it as a direct determinant of livelihood, mobility, and family unity. Research on the social effects of immigration enforcement confirms this: even U.S. citizens in mixed-status households report heightened levels of anxiety and depression when a family member is threatened by removal or visa insecurity.
For Indian-origin households, the stress is cumulative. Students second-guess the value of investing in American degrees, given the uncertainty of work authorisation afterwards. Professionals hesitate to buy homes or establish roots, fearing their status could be rescinded. Families plan travel cautiously, aware that re-entry is not guaranteed. Naturalised citizens, theoretically insulated from immigration policy, still moderate their public expression and online behaviour lest association with relatives on visas attract unwanted scrutiny. These adaptive behaviours, while rational under conditions of uncertainty, over time translate into chronic stress, insomnia, and even physical illness.
The social environment adds another dimension to the burden. Official crime data show that periods of heightened immigration enforcement have coincided with increased hate crimes in American cities. For Indian migrants, the effect is a dual exposure: bureaucratic hostility on the one hand and social hostility on the other. While they may excel academically and professionally, their sense of security is undermined both at the level of policy and in public life. Even the most accomplished professionals admit to avoiding public confrontation, wary of being marked as outsiders in a society where political rhetoric has legitimised suspicion.
The contradiction could not be starker. Indian-Americans are among the most successful immigrant groups in the United States by every measurable standard—income, education, tax compliance, and civic participation. They contribute disproportionately to the technology sector, higher education, healthcare, and entrepreneurship. Yet this very community remains most vulnerable to policy volatility. Their achievements, rather than guaranteeing security, seem to heighten exposure, tethered as they are to programmes that can be dismantled with the stroke of a pen.
For India, the implications extend beyond the immediate concerns of its diaspora. The United States remains the premier destination for Indian students and professionals. The flow of talent, remittances, and transnational expertise constitutes a vital component of India’s economic and diplomatic ties with Washington. A climate of sustained unpredictability threatens to weaken this corridor. Already, Canada, Australia, and European nations are positioning themselves as more stable alternatives, courting Indian talent with clearer migration pathways. Should the U.S. continue to project uncertainty, it risks undermining a pillar of its bilateral relationship with India at precisely the moment when strategic alignment is most sought in global affairs.
The Trump threat, therefore, is not confined to the mechanics of immigration law. It is a question of trust: the trust that lawful compliance will lead to security; the trust that contribution will translate into belonging; and the trust that strategic partners will remain insulated from domestic political swings. When that trust is corroded, the costs are borne not only by individuals and families but also by the broader architecture of Indo-U.S. relations.
The predicament of Indian-origin communities in the United States today illustrates how unpredictability can function as a form of exclusion. It is not deportation alone that unsettles them, but the constant anticipation of policy reversals and the lived uncertainty of belonging. The psychological toll is as corrosive as the legal barriers themselves, leaving a population of highly skilled, deeply invested migrants in a state of suspended assurance.
In this lies the real tragedy. Those who contribute most diligently to America’s knowledge economy and civic life remain the ones most exposed to its political caprice. Until predictability and fairness return as guiding principles of immigration policy, Indian students, professionals, and families will continue to inhabit an uneasy limbo, permanently preparing for disruptions that may never come, yet always fearing they will.
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