Present, but invisible. The life of an undocumented social worker in the Netherlands

One rainy evening, under a heavily overcast sky, I met a man in a Dutch town near the German border who had worked for the US Department of State for two years, having previously spent two years in Africa in the service of the Italian government.

My host, Asmar (he prefers to be referred to by his real name), is waiting for me at the entrance to his lodgings. He shakes my hand with the confidence of someone trying to hide his fear or nervousness. He speaks Arabic with a Yemeni accent and wears expensive, classic clothes that suggest he once held a prestigious position, before fate forced him to live under the radar in the Netherlands. Here he is waiting for a specific date on which he can apply for asylum without being sent back to France, the country that issued him with a Schengen visa.

Before we go upstairs to talk, he asks me to come with him to the supermarket closest to his secret hideout, an Albert Heijn. As we chat on the way, he tells me that he goes to the shop twice a week with his shopping bag and mingles with his neighbours. Afterwards, he quietly returns to his room. He avoids buses and cars which, because of their lighting or appearance, give the impression of being government vehicles, and draws as little attention to himself as possible.

At the till, I notice he’s carrying an Albert Heijn loyalty card. I joke: ‘This is the first piece of ID proving you live in the Netherlands – at least as far as the supermarket cashier is concerned. Now all you need is a driving licence and a residence permit so you can get further afield. And even visit cities and airports.’

Neither a tourist nor a criminal

We walk back to his accommodation. I notice how carefully he crosses the roads and cycle paths. Friends have warned him that if he is involved in an accident, the police will turn up and immediately ask for his details. Someone like him, who has worked in the diplomatic world, does not want to end up on the wrong side of the law under any circumstances. He is neither a tourist nor a criminal, but one of those people whose life has become entangled in wars and international politics, only to end up stranded in an unfamiliar country without any documents.

When I enter the home of thirty-eight-year-old Asmar, I see an old wooden chessboard on the table that he brought back from his time working at the embassy. Next to it is a glass of water with mint and lemon. The glow from the screen, showing Netflix, lights up the room. This is the only place where he enjoys complete freedom.

When I ask him how he spends the long hours in his accommodation, Asmar – who speaks English better than his mother tongue, Arabic – tells me that his life is good, but comes with restrictions and anxiety. He takes Dutch lessons with a private tutor he met online, he exercises, he cooks every day and tries to lead as normal a life as possible, whilst quietly waiting for his right to stay here to be recognised. Meanwhile, news reports and new asylum laws follow one after another, and his anxiety is growing.

‘I feel the need to talk to others. I need friendship and a social life, but I don’t have a residence permit, so I keep my distance from people – I feel invisible,’ says Asmar.

According to documents I have seen, before he began working at the US and Italian embassies, Asmar also worked for human rights organisations in Iraq, Sudan, Syria and Ethiopia for around ten years. The roles seem to have been reversed.

Longer validity period

Asmar entered Europe on a visa for France and, unfortunately for him, was granted a visa with a long period of validity. In order to apply for asylum in the Netherlands, he cannot submit his application until six months after his visa has expired. If he does so earlier, the Dutch authorities will send him back to the country that issued him with the Schengen visa. And unfortunately for Asmar, that country granted him a visa with a long period of validity.

When I ask him why he didn’t apply for asylum in the country that issued his visa, rather than spending months in hiding, he says that he feels a connection to the culture of this country, the Netherlands.

I ask him why he did not leave for the United States, given that he worked for the US government. He replies that he was promised ‘highest priority’ status – a programme run by the US Department of State under which US ambassadors can nominate people for exceptional immigration to the United States – but that, in the end, he was not granted a visa.

He also shows me a document dated 19 August 2025 which shows that he submitted an application in the Netherlands, which was rejected by the Dutch Ministry of Foreign Affairs.

In February 2020, Asmar began working for ADRA, the Adventist Development and Relief Agency, in Yemen. Whilst working in war-torn areas there, he was abducted by the Iran-backed Houthis. They held a gun to the back of his head because he refused to follow their orders regarding the distribution of medicines and food.

He then left the country and, in mid-2021, Asmar began working for the Italian government through AICS, a humanitarian organisation. He is part of the emergency aid department in Sudan and Italy.

Whilst working in Africa, he was recruited in late 2023 to work for the US government, coordinating operations with the government of the Republic of Yemen. He remained in that post until August 2025. He then received an eemail from the US Secretary of State, Marco Rubio, informing him and his colleagues that their employment contracts would be terminated following the US government’s decision to cut staff numbers at the Department of State in order to reduce the budget.

A dog

I ask Asmar what his next step is. He replies that he wants some peace of mind, wants to get a dog, wants to get married, wants to finish a few things and wants to return to the work he’s good at.

Before we say goodbye, he reads me a poem he wrote whilst in isolation:

You dreamt of a job, children and a wife;

And luck in love, and a lifelong love;

And all the heights you set out to reach;

In dreams you thought you were waiting for.

You set about tackling the tasks you had to do;

And climbed into a world you never knew;

And at the height of it all, you woke up every night;

To what might be, and what just might.

And when, at last, I broke the mould—

To exchange my poverty for heavy gold;

I served my country, but then I realised:

I never really dreamt of you.

But now you long to dream once more;

To find yourself, but tell me: when?

To find your feet in unfamiliar territory—

To carve a path through stone, alone;

To live a life that is yours alone.

Translation:

You used to dream of a job, children and a wife;
On happiness in love and a love of life;
Of all the heights you wanted to reach;
In dreams you thought you were waiting for.

You kept track of the tasks you had to complete;
And climbed into a world you didn’t know;
And at the top, you’d wake up every night;
With what might be and what might yet come.

And when I finally broke the pattern –
To exchange my poverty for solid gold;
I was flying the flag, but then I realised:
I’d never really dreamt about you.

But now you’re begging to be allowed to dream again;
To find yourself, but tell me: when?
To find firm ground in unfamiliar territory –
Simply to carve a path through stone;
To live a life that is yours alone.

The author of this article has seen documents confirming that Asmar worked for organisations linked to the Italian and US governments.