Why I'm banned from Iran, Israel and the US – despite breaking no rules

Telegraph

9 hours ago

Persian by blood, British by birth. A dual citizen who visited Iran every year of her life – until recently – to see the relatives still living there. I wouldn't change my heritage for the world, but I'd be lying if I said it hadn't caused a few problems when it comes to travel.
It's a strange thing, being effectively barred from three of the world's most fascinating countries – without ever having broken a single rule. As a British-Iranian journalist, I've found myself… less than welcome, shall we say, in Iran, Israel and the US. Caught in a tangled web of international politics and passport technicalities, I've been forced to forgo opportunities and miss moments that matter.
I remember being offered a press trip to Israel in the early days of my career – long before recent events – and telling my dad the exciting news. He shut it down almost instantly. 'If you go, you may never be allowed back into Iran,' he warned. At the time, I couldn't believe the two were so mutually exclusive. I'd hoped to visit Israel and Palestine with open eyes, to experience the people and cultures first-hand. But that door closed before it ever opened.
The irony? Iran is now effectively off the table too. I haven't been banned – not officially – but as a journalist, the risks of a misunderstanding at the border are all too real. My parents' growing concern about my return is likely justified, no matter how frustrating it is to hear.
And then there's the US. In 2016, I received an email informing me that my ESTA – the visa waiver British travellers take for granted – had been revoked. No explanation, just a blunt notification that I'd now need to apply for a full tourist visa. The reason? A sweeping policy affecting anyone who holds Iranian nationality or has travelled to certain countries since 2011. It was Iran, Iraq, Syria and Sudan at the time – and more have since been added to the list.
I know what you're thinking: just give up the Iranian citizenship. But that's easier said than done – and not something I want to do. My Iranian passport may be expired, but holding onto it, or even just the national ID card, is a tether to my roots. To the country in which my parents were born, where my grandparents are buried, and where so many of my relatives still live.
Retaining that citizenship is more than a legal technicality – it's a deeply personal connection to my culture, my language and my family. Growing up, I didn't always appreciate those annual visits, but I now see them as some of the most meaningful experiences of my life.
And I'm far from alone. Thousands of dual nationals, including friends and colleagues, find themselves in similar limbo. Holding onto that second passport is, for many of us, a way of preserving our identity. But it comes with baggage: extra scrutiny at borders, bureaucratic hurdles and, in my case, a growing list of no-go zones.
I've lost count of the number of times someone's told me, 'Just apply for an ESTA!' as if I haven't thought of that. Being shut out of a country based on your heritage is frustrating enough, and being met with blank stares or misguided advice when you try to explain why just adds insult to injury.
I was lucky, in some ways. After graduating, I did manage to travel across the States – a three-month coast-to-coast road trip that I'll never forget. I returned again that winter for New Year's Eve in New York. At the time, I'd been torn between the US and backpacking through Southeast Asia. Now I'm glad I chose America – because that window has long since closed.
Lately, though, I've had the itch again. There are places I'd love to revisit, friends I miss and cities I've yet to explore. But it's not simple. Getting a US visa isn't impossible, but appointments are backed up, and processing can take months. I could maybe get one for 2026 – if I'm lucky. Even then, there's the risk of being pulled aside at customs. It's an exhausting process to go through every time you just want to travel.
I've already missed out on so much. I can't see the Savannah Bananas play (yes, really – look them up on Instagram). I've had to turn down work trips, missed invitations from friends, and soon I'll miss a close family friend's wedding in New York. None of my immediate family can go. My mum wanted to celebrate her 70th birthday in California next year. I've told her to keep up her gym routine and take her vitamins – we may have to delay that milestone.
As for Iran, I haven't seen some of my relatives in a decade. When one set of aunts and uncles were able to get visas to visit their son in Canada, my sister and I flew out to meet them there. I'm so grateful we did.
It's bittersweet to see travellers on Instagram and TikTok venturing to Iran, sharing the beauty of the country I know so well – its hospitality, its landscapes, its culture. I feel a pang of envy every time.
Because while the world feels more connected than ever, people like me remain quietly, frustratingly, stuck in between.