This essay was written by Sam March, courtesy of The Global Movement Against Statelessness (GMAS), a content partner of Global Voices. This post is part of Global Voices’ July 2026 Spotlight series, “Statelessness.” This series offers insight into the issue of statelessness and how it hinders people’s freedom of movement, educational opportunities, political access, and more. You can support this coverage by donating here.
Above 50,000 kilometers (31,000 miles) from the ground, the Alps looked like a huge, bumpy chocolate cake covered with powdered sugar. The temperature outside was usually minus 50℃, and with my paralysing fear of heights, I thought I would be completely terrified, but, to the contrary, I was not. My heart didn’t pound being suspended in the middle of the air; however, it skipped every beat frantically when I stood in front of the passport control booth.
As a person who was born stateless, meaning I don’t have a nationality and therefore lost all my fundamental human rights, I have learned to fear things that come naturally to other people. The journey began when I was invited to present the Global Movement Against Statelessness at the Global Refugee Forum (GRF) event in Geneva, Switzerland. I had recently obtained my travel document after a five-year struggle, which ended up with me being heartbroken to see that they had left out my date and place of birth. It felt like I had contributed to erasing parts of my identity. However, when this opportunity came, I was filled with joy thinking I could still “easily” achieve my dream of traveling.
Well, I thought wrong.
The first wall I hit was misinformation. As a first step, I thought about researching to see if I qualified or not. Despite the embassy and the visa center websites having a stateless option, and successfully filling out an application, at my appointment I was left waiting for hours, eventually to be denied on the ground that my travel document wasn’t accepted by the embassy. A document that grants the right to travel didn’t even allow me to submit a visa application. It is a paradox that only the inequity between countries can create.
Ultimately, I did make the journey, but how I was able to slay the dragon of inequity all lies in the favors I received. With some help and letters to the embassy and because of the invitation, I was granted a limited territorial visa. It was a mix of joy and sorrow. I was happy to receive the visa, but deeply upset with everyone reminding me that I almost didn’t, that were it not for the favors, I wouldn’t have made it to Geneva. It reminded me that I am missing, that I am not a full human being; I felt so small and disgraced.
The second wall that I had to scale was ignorance. Now it was time to book my ticket. This was a black comedy movie that forces you to laugh though you should cry. When I tried to check with the airlines whether I would be allowed to book with them as a stateless person, I was sent to the “special assistance” page to check if I needed a caretaker or a wheelchair. I was astonished that an airline that handles millions of passengers didn’t have the slightest idea about stateless individuals and therefore couldn’t accommodate them. It was a dead end with the website, so I had to call. The customer service kept repeating the same script: “The passenger has to obtain the right to enter the country of destination.” Though this was positive, it still made me feel unsure with no clear answer. In a state of confusion, I booked anyway, and since there was no direct flight, the story with the transit country is even funnier.
I am a person who learned to live my life in fear. As this was my mindset, I didn’t want to be detained in a foreign country with no aid anywhere. So I decided to email the transit country embassy looking for any confirmation that could silence the fear. The answer was a vague email stating that, if you stay in the transit area, you should be fine, but we don’t know what immigration will choose to do at the borders.
This was complete ignorance, as they were trying not to take any responsibility. If the embassy and the airline don’t know, who should guide stateless travellers?
Traveling with stateless documents is a journey of finding out. After all those empty answers and failed tries, I thought I needed to brave up and go through it. The trip had moments of fear, waiting for the machine to spit out my boarding pass, and long monologues, explaining to the question-marked faces behind each counter what it meant to be stateless, and I recall the funniest question I was asked was “What is your nationality?”
It was exhausting. The dream had become a nightmare, as everything does when you are stateless. Finally, the last stop, the passport control booth. I was approaching slowly, terrified like a condemned man walking to his execution. Faces around me were either excited or tired, but no one was scared. I felt like running away, but I was trapped, with the sea of travellers behind me and the passport booth in front of me — no way but forward. Then, I was next in line, and it was the final showdown; I either had this dream, or I would be detained, looking for the next person to do me a favor and get me out. I reached the booth, clutching my visa, my cash and trying to stay calm.
To my luck, the only thing that got me through everything was that the officer was too tired to care; he asked me where I would like the stamp to go, which was another joke to laugh about, another ignorant person who didn’t know how to assist a stateless traveler.
I was there, finally, in Geneva; it all felt like climbing the mountain of Everest, and I didn’t enjoy my triumph. I was devastated, repeating every humiliation and explanation as I drifted off to sleep on my first night in Europe.
Now, as I am writing and reliving every detail, I am trying to make sense of the misinformation and ignorance that I faced during this trip. The question arises to paint a clear picture: why all this, and why is no one aware of our existence? And the answer is simple: the government uses this travel document for surveillance and control, not to guarantee any rights for its stateless individuals. It assumes that those people belong to a group that would never see a plane, never have a chance to travel anywhere — an unequal, superior mentality that we continue to have to challenge, and with bureaucracy and greed for money, the embassies and the airlines don’t see the point of catering to us or trying to at least give us the right answers.
As I conclude, I must say that though statelessness is a burden that is not our fault, it is the complete shortcomings of any state that refuses to abide by human rights. We will persevere to make the world listen, and we ask you to join in. This is not a special case; an estimated 15 million people are living in this situation and far worse, and you can be next. Join in the fight to eradicate an issue that shouldn’t exist in the first place; see where you can help. Statelessness is not a particular group problem but an issue for every human being.