Purna Bhandari, 38, was just a child when his family was driven out of Bhutan in the early 1990s during a campaign of ethnic cleansing against ethnic Nepalis known as the Lhotshampa. For nearly 20 years, he languished, stateless, in a refugee camp in Nepal with 100,000 others like him – his citizenship disputed by his native and adopted countries alike.
After being legally resettled in the United States in 2010, Bhandari rebuilt his life – working, raising a family, paying taxes, and trying to move on from a traumatic past.
On the morning of March 9, 2025, Bhandari received a phone call from an Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) agent, who claimed he had missed his annual check-in. Bhandari disputed this, stating he had completed the check-in and could prove it. He was instructed to bring the documentation, which he did, to the local ICE office in Cincinnati, Ohio, the following day.
Because he struggled with complex conversations in English, Bhandari asked a relative with the language skills to accompany him to the ICE office for support. But when they arrived, Bhandari was immediately taken into custody.
That afternoon, he was allowed to make a brief phone call, to his surprise, to inform his loved ones that he was being transferred to Butler County Jail.
Over the next two days, according to accounts from those close to him, Bhandari’s wife and her immediate family members frantically ran between the prison and the ICE office, trying to see or speak with him. Phone calls reportedly went unanswered, and no one offered them information. Their desperate search was met with silence.
According to Bhandari, the county jail staff repeatedly ignored his requests for an interpreter and denied him access to legal counsel.
On March 25, Bhandari and three others were taken to Newark Liberty International Airport in New Jersey, where they met six additional deportees from Illinois, Arizona, and Pennsylvania. Together, the group totaled 10, all of them former Bhutanese refugees who had been resettled in the U.S.
Before boarding, an ICE agent gave Bhandari a brief window to inform loved ones about his deportation. He called his sister, knowing his wife would be unreachable at work. The agent intervened and cut the call short.
Bhandari agonized over why he was being deported. He wondered whether it was related to a domestic violence conviction in 2013, for which he had already faced legal consequences. Or perhaps it was an incident on the Canadian border in 2019 when a wrong turn during a family road trip led to U.S. officials seizing his green card and citing immigration violations. After those incidents Bhandari was placed under ICE supervision and required to check in once a year – a requirement he said he always fulfilled.
At the airport, the ICE agent presented Bhandari with two documents: one confirming his deportation to Paro, Bhutan, and another permitting re-entry to the United States after four years should he choose to do so. Bhandari signed only the latter. He was then deported to Bhutan – the same country that had previously stripped his parents of citizenship and forced his whole family into exile.
The news soon sent shockwaves through resettled Bhutanese communities across the United States and beyond, unleashing a torrent of fear and retraumatizing individuals who had fled persecution in Bhutan in the late 1980s and early 1990s. Many were left bewildered and outraged, still struggling to comprehend the basis for their deportation to Bhutan, a country that forced them out.
Among the first group of 10 deportees – at least the first deportations to have been recorded publicly – two were confirmed to have been born in a refugee camp in Nepal, a development that took the community by surprise. They had never set foot in Bhutan before being forcibly sent there by ICE.
Upon arrival in Bhutan, Bhandari and nine other former Bhutanese refugees – the first group of deportees – were briefly handed over to Bhutanese authorities, who then transported them to the Indian border. There, they were left with a stark warning: never return. Once again, Bhandari found himself stateless.
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Speaking from a hideout near the India-Nepal border, Bhandari granted me an exclusive interview detailing his experience, on the condition that his exact location remain undisclosed. According to him, 18 ICE agents escorted the 10 deportees across continents on commercial flights. ICE agents had possession of their travel documents, phones, and paperwork throughout the journey. Bhandari never even saw his own travel document.
Each deportee, except one, was flanked by two ICE agents at all times – even on the airplane. On the plane, they were assigned seats in different locations and kept under constant surveillance, preventing any interaction among them.
When their flight landed at Paro International Airport in Bhutan, ICE agents instructed them to stay seated while regular passengers disembarked. Once the plane landed, an ICE agent returned Bhandari’s confiscated phone to him. Three Bhutanese police officers and one immigration officer then boarded to formally receive the ICE team, who were escorted off the plane.
Bhandari remembered a Bhutanese officer greeting the ICE agents: “Welcome to the beautiful kingdom of Bhutan.”
The Bhutanese police officers immediately took away their phones, asked for the passcodes, then deleted any photos they found of the airport, its surroundings, or the planes. The deportees were then led off the plane through a rear exit and taken by bus to a nearby hotel, a five- to seven-minute drive from the airport.
Bhandari recalls feeling extremely anxious, unsure of what would happen next. At the hotel, which a staff member described as a four-star establishment, they were housed overnight in separate rooms with no contact with each other.
The same day, Bhandari was called to a room on the third floor, where the Bhutanese immigration officer they met at the airport was waiting. Bhandari remembered the officer pointing to a red-colored chair in the middle of the room and saying, “Sit on that ‘hot seat’ for an interview.” The three police officers were also present once again.
Bhandari’s responses were documented in writing, then the officers relayed them back to him, and he confirmed their accuracy. After the unrecorded interview, the immigration officer began video-recording Bhandari’s answers, using his phone to capture the responses.
During the interview, the officers inquired about basic demographic details, including the names of his parents and siblings, as well as any affiliations or ties to Bhutan and the refugee camp in Nepal.
Bhandari recalled feeling intense anxiety, saying, “My heart was racing. My head was heavy.” He asked the officers for their names and about his legal rights while in custody, but they refused to provide any answers. Instead, the officers kept telling him, “Don’t fear us. We’re trying to help you.”
The absence of the equivalent of Miranda rights (a set of rights that U.S. law enforcement officers are obliged to inform a suspect about before questioning them in a criminal case) in Bhutan raises significant concerns about the treatment of deportees like Bhandari. During his detention, Bhandari was not informed of his right to remain silent or to seek legal counsel, leaving him vulnerable to potential coercion and exploitation.
This lack of protection highlights the vast differences in human rights standards between Bhutan and countries like the United States. Ironically, though, Bhandari says his experience was marked by a lack of due process in both countries – in Bhutan, where he faced detention without rights, and in the U.S., where he was rushed through deportation proceedings without legal recourse.
Around 10 p.m. that day, a Bhutanese police officer arrived with Bhandari’s written statement and had him sign it. The officer also inquired about Bhandari’s medical well-being; Bhandari reported swollen fingers and requested pain medication. The officer took photos of the affected areas and later delivered the medication.
The officer informed Bhandari and the others that they would be taken to their next destination the following morning. When Bhandari asked where they were headed, the officer replied, “Get ready to be picked up at 7 a.m. The ‘coordinator’ will tell you where you’re going next. I don’t know your destination yet.”
The following day at 5:28 am local time in Bhutan, the doorbell at Bhandari’s room rang, signaling the officer’s arrival with a surprise breakfast and lunch. The meal consisted of bread and omelet for breakfast, and pasta for lunch, which the officer instructed Bhandari to save for later during the trip.
It was then that the officer revealed a crucial detail about Bhandari’s fate: “We will take you to India. You’ll not be allowed to stay in Bhutan. We were pressured by the current U.S. administration to do all this,” Bhandari recalled the officer saying.
The small bus carrying Bhandari and nine other deportees traveled 4.5 hours to reach the Phuentsholing Gate, the Bhutan-India border checkpoint. During the journey, the officers and deportees even engaged in some casual conversations. As they neared the gate, the “coordinator” – who had also been traveling on the bus – handed each deportee 10,000 Indian rupees ($115) to cover their immediate survival expenses.
From a street shop near the Bhutan-India border gate, the officers bought and even casually offered deportees paan (a betel leaf preparation famously consumed for its stimulant properties in some Asian countries, including Bhutan). Some accepted, while Purna declined.
Soon, once at the actual border gate, the coordinator stepped off the bus to confer with checkpoint officers. Bhandari was unsure what was happening. When the coordinator returned with a man in traditional Bhutanese attire, he announced the deportees would receive an additional 20,000 rupees, bringing the total to 30,000. Bhandari and other deportees signed a blank, torn piece of copy paper presented by the coordinator as a receipt.
The coordinator told the deportees that three cabs were waiting outside the Bhutan border gate, driven by Nepali-speaking drivers from India. The deportees were divided among the cabs, with four in one and three in each of the other two. The coordinator instructed them to follow the drivers’ instructions, saying they would be taken to their next destination.
When Bhandari asked where they were headed, the coordinator deferred, saying the drivers would provide that information. Bhandari and three others got into one cab, which ultimately dropped them off near Panitanki in India. Bhandari also discovered that the cabs had been pre-booked by the Bhutanese government weeks earlier, mentioning that they were expecting “special guests” who required transportation.
The coordinator offered a stern warning to Bhandari and the others as they prepared to leave: “If you get into legal trouble in India or Nepal, and have to come back to Bhutan for any reason, keep in mind that we will put you in prison,” Bhandari recalled the coordinator saying politely, just before they got into the cab.
In the United States, on the day Bhandari was deported, his frail father had just returned from a month-long visit to Nepal. As his parents stepped back into their home after the long journey, they received the heartbreaking news – their son was gone.
“After I reached India, I found a frantic voicemail from my mother, left on the day I was deported,” Bhandari said. “She was begging me to come home in a voice I’d never heard before. It broke something in me. That voicemail haunts me every minute.”
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These recent deportations of former Bhutanese refugees from the United States to Bhutan, only to be subsequently abandoned by Bhutan at the Indian border, have sparked widespread anxiety and concern amongst former Bhutanese refugees who have resettled in the U.S.
Just as in the 1990s, it appears no country is willing to accept them. Four deportees, including one whose father still lives in a Bhutanese refugee camp, made it to one of Nepal’s two remaining refugee camps (down from seven before the resettlement efforts) but were caught and detained by Nepali authorities. They currently face severe charges for illegal entry and are being held in a police detention facility.
For those who went through a similar experience more than 30 years ago, the deportations, occurring just weeks after Indian Prime Minister Narendra Modi’s visit to the U.S., have brought a chilling reminder of the mass evictions of Bhutanese citizens in the 1990s, a period marred by human rights abuses against these communities. And once the deportees reach India, like during the mass eviction 30 years ago, the Indian government remains a mere spectator to this crisis. New Delhi hasn’t publicly addressed the issue as of this writing.
Comments from Bhutanese officials to Bhandari suggest that Bhutan accepted the deportees only under pressure from the United States. In other contexts, the Trump administration has threatened severe consequences against countries refusing to accept repatriation flights. Colombia was threatened with tariffs, sanctions, and a travel ban before backtracking and agreeing to accept deportees, while South Sudan saw its nationals effectively barred from travel to the U.S.
Recent events reveal that Bhutan has been issuing travel documents for deportees (even for former refugees), but after accepting them from ICE officials, those individuals are being left stranded at foreign borders without being accepted by any country, effectively rendering them stateless.
This situation raises serious questions about the nature of the agreement between Bhutan and the United States. If Bhutan initially agreed to permanently receive these deportees but later abandoned them, it suggests that the current administration is complicit in enabling a country with a deeply troubling human rights record to create more refugees. Bhutan and the United States do not have official diplomatic relations.
In some cases, deportees were born in refugee camps in Nepal, prompting questions within the resettled Bhutanese communities about the basis for their deportation to Bhutan.
The U.S. government, which previously admitted these individuals as U.N.-verified refugees, deported them after they had served or were serving legal sentences. Their deportation has drawn widespread concerns within the resettled community, with many viewing it as a continuation of the hardships they initially fled.
The U.S. is a signatory to the 1951 Refugee Convention and its 1967 Protocol, which prohibits returning refugees to places where their life or freedom is at risk. Article 33 (1) clearly states: “No Contracting State shall expel or return (‘refouler’) a refugee… where his life or freedom would be threatened.” U.S. law mirrors this through Section 241(b)(3) of the Immigration and Nationality Act.
The U.S. deported legally resettled refugees – most of whom had criminal records for which they had already faced legal consequences – back to Bhutan, the country they (or their families, in the case of those who had been born in Nepal without ever living in Bhutan) once fled. After their forced return, Bhutan transferred them to India, where they now remain without legal status or formal protection.
From a broader perspective, the lack of transparency surrounding these deportations is equally concerning, with no public data tracking cases and families likely staying silent out of fear. This raises a pressing question: how many others have been quietly deported back to the countries they fled? The issue poses a warning to all refugee communities, not just to the resettled Bhutanese in the United States, and advocates for the refugee rights must demand accountability and push for a more deeper investigation to address the perilous silence and real fear refugees face.
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In his case, now stateless, Bhandari has left behind two U.S.-born children without their father, while his wife struggles to pick up the pieces, according to a local community leader.
A source close to the family, who requested anonymity out of fear of retribution, says Bhandari’s immediate family members in the U.S. are devastated and struggling to comprehend the new reality. She says he was deported without due process for minor legal offenses for which he had already faced consequences in the U.S.
Politicians in Pennsylvania – including State Senator Patty Kim, Representatives Justin Fleming and David Madsen, and Dauphin County Commissioner Justin Douglas – have publicly condemned the recent deportations. In a news conference, they called for compassion, transparency, and reform in how immigration enforcement treats refugee communities.
While Bhandari and other deportees’ families in the United States navigate the aftermath of their loved one’s deportations, the situation clearly underscores the difficulties marginalized communities face in drawing public and institutional attention to their experiences.
As of April 18, a reliable community source tracking these cases reported that a total of at least 20 former refugees from Bhutan, all legally resettled in the U.S., have been deported to Bhutan from various parts of the United States. An additional 60 remain in detention facilities nationwide awaiting deportation.
The U.S. government’s decision to deport former Bhutanese refugees has had notable effects on the individuals, families, and communities involved, raising questions about the interpretation and implementation of its poorly handled human rights policies.
The deportation of former Bhutanese refugees to Bhutan comes at a time when the country has been placed on the U.S. “Red List,” primarily due to national security considerations. Despite this designation, Washington has moved forward with deportations, leaving the resettled Bhutanese community of over 100,000 in the U.S. concerned and seeking clarity.
For Bhandari, the situation is far beyond concern.
“I am terrified,” he said from his hideout. “I miss my children – my 10-year-old son doesn’t know I’ve been deported yet, though my teenage daughter does. I haven’t slept in days. I once fled my home to save my life, and now I have no home left at all. Where do I belong?”