Emad Moussa recalls his first trip out of Gaza, with his grandfather, as the pair rode by their original village of Al-Sawafir Al-Gharbiyya, now ruins sheltered by cactuses and trees. “He was, like every other Palestinian, a nomad traveling across a landscape of memory,” Moussa writes. “Like all others, his memory was premised on three main motifs: the praise of a long-gone paradise lost; the lamentation of a present defined by military occupation; and, the hopeful visualization of a return to Palestine, where justice will finally be served.”

Tamam Abusalama remembers leaving the Gaza Strip for the first time ten years ago. The driver made a point to take her and her mother through Beit Jirja, their original village, on the way to Jerusalem. Nothing was left of the village. Just agricultural fields.

As Trump announces further travel bans, we must recognize the hierarchy of vulnerability: who gets into which fortress, who is left banging on the doors, who is trapped in an increasingly impoverished ghetto. Having papers is both an opportunity and a marker in a surveilled world.