America Has Abandoned Me
A Note from an Afghan Interpreter Stuck Behind Enemy Lines
I remember the day my world changed. I stood alongside U.S. soldiers in Afghanistan, facing each challenge with resolve, translating in moments of tension and uncertainty. For years, I risked everything to support U.S. forces. Each morning, I woke uncertain if I’d see the sunset, but I believed in the promise I’d been given: one day, I’d be safe. One day, I’d find a new life in America.
But now, that promise feels like a distant memory.
I sit in a small, dim room in Pakistan, where I’ve been waiting in limbo for years. It’s been so long since my visa interview at the U.S. Consulate that I’ve lost count of the days. The interview had felt like a glimmer of hope—I thought it would be a final step, a closing chapter to my years of danger and uncertainty. But since then, I’ve heard nothing. My case, it seems, has vanished into a sea of endless delays, a place where time stands still, and human lives are lost in endless waiting.
Life in Pakistan isn’t much of a life for me. I can’t work legally, and every job under the table comes with the risk of discovery and deportation. Even buying food feels like a precarious task, with the constant fear of being noticed, reported, or detained. I keep my head down, keep my voice low, and pray that someday I’ll wake up from this nightmare. The dreams I once held of a future and stability feel like they’re fading with each day of silence.
The nights are the hardest. Alone with my thoughts, I replay those moments of fear and sacrifice in Afghanistan to support U.S. forces. I remember translating critical messages under pressure and the countless hours spent supporting U.S. missions in dangerous terrain, always aware that each word I spoke brought me closer to becoming a target. But what haunts me most is the thought that maybe it was all for nothing—that I’d been useful only when I could offer something, and now, my existence is forgotten.
In the silence, I’m filled with questions that have no answers. I wonder if anyone in the U.S. remembers my case and if anyone can pull my file from the depths of obscurity and offer me the future I’d risked so much to earn. But each inquiry I send vanishes into the void, and each call and email is returned with the same vague response: “Your case is under administrative processing.” And so I wait, month after month, hoping for a resolution - a man caught between worlds, unable to go forward or back.
The reality is crushing: I feel discarded, an unseen casualty of war and red tape. Every day, I fight a battle of a different kind—a struggle for hope. I cling to the possibility that maybe, someday, someone will hear my story. Perhaps the promise made to me and the thousands like me will be remembered someday. We risked everything for our cause and gave our voices and lives.
So I’m asking you to hear my voice. I am an interpreter who gave everything, who hoped for something better, and who is still waiting for that hope to be fulfilled. Please remember the promises made to interpreters like me and help bring me out of the shadows.
Until then, I wait in this tiny room, my future a shadow, my hope a whisper, wondering if I’ll ever be more than a forgotten promise.
“Abdullah” is a former Afghan interpreter hiding in Pakistan.
He and others deserved/deserve so much more.