Prism Reflections: Preparation doesn’t travel on a Pakistani passport

Prism Reflections: Preparation doesn’t travel on a Pakistani passport

Travelling with a weak passport means dreaming with strings attached. We prepare for the worst-case scenarios, rehearse the best answers, and never fully allow ourselves to feel the excitement. The anxiety is palpable: will this country let me in? But what do we do when the worst of the worst happens? It did to Zara*, and she couldn’t do anything. She was born in Pakistan but has been living in Dubai with her husband for several years. The couple are UAE residents on paper and fit the profile of ‘legitimate’ tourists. This year, they booked a seven-night trip to Georgia. All their documents were complete, the tickets were booked, and the hotel was reserved. For green passport holders, Georgia offers visa on arrival. Zara and her husband decided to carry $1,000 in cash each. They had heard stories of people deported from Georgia or refused entry over insufficient funds. The couple did not want to take any chances. At Tbilisi International Airport, they waited in a long immigration queue. But as soon as their turn came, the couple was sent to another counter. After more waiting, an official announced: “The State of Georgia has decided not to grant you entry. You will be sent back on the next flight.” No explanations given, no documents checked—only a rejection. They were subsequently taken to a small room with an uncanny resemblance to a detention area. Zara and her husband’s passports were taken while they were told to wait for the next flight. Their mobile phones were confiscated, too. They were lucky to catch the next flight to Dubai within five hours. At the Sharjah Airport’s arrivals section, the couple found out that what happened to them had become common over the past few years. According to authorities, about 10-12 people, particularly Pakistani and Indian passport holders, were sent back on every flight. The Pakistani passport remains among the lowest-ranked travel documents worldwide, ranked 95th on the World Passport Index. But to Zara, what happened felt random, unexplained, and honestly discriminatory. I can relate to her story, having undergone part of the ordeal myself. After landing at the Tbilisi airport, I was pulled aside at immigration, sent to a secondary counter, and told to wait. The officer examined my Pakistani passport, made a phone call, and said nothing more. I stood there for over an hour, helplessly watching other travellers pass through smoothly. I had prepared every document needed, but none of it seemed to matter. After what felt like an eternity, the officer stamped my passport and waved me through. I felt relief, not triumph. The only thing that set me and Zara apart was luck, which was on my side on that trip. The verdict delivered to Zara came without a reason, and that absence is the point. Her documents were never checked. Her passport was the only evidence anyone needed. This is the stark reality of global mobility injustice, a system in which movement is unequally distributed not by merit or preparation, but by geopolitical positioning. When mobility rights are consistently denied to specific groups based on nationality and origin, sovereignty becomes a cover for structural discrimination. Zara prepared thoroughly. But she was refused before a single document was checked. Under unequal mobility regimes, legitimacy does not guarantee access, and preparation does not protect against refusal. I was allowed to enter Georgia; Zara was sent home. We had arrived with the same kind of preparation and carried passports from the same country. Standing on opposite sides of that decision, I could not stop wondering what separates a traveller who is allowed entry from a traveller who is turned away. Sometimes, the answer is not what we carry in our hands, but what our passports carry before we even arrive. *Name changed to protect privacy Header image: Photo taken by author at Georgia’s Tbilisi airport while waiting for the immigration official. The views expressed in Prism Reflections are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the editorial policy of Dawn. Prism Reflections is a space for voices and experiences that shape, and are shaped by, Pakistan’s defining news stories. Do you have a personal story that intersects with the news? Send it to prism@dawn.com.