What it’s like to travel with a weak passport: ‘There’s no dignity’

International tourism sells the promise of a borderless world: open skies, new horizons, the freedom to explore. But for the holder of a weak passport, that promise rings hollow.

The Henley Passport Index (HPI) ranks the world’s passports by the number of destinations their holders can visit visa-free. This may be affected by factors like a country’s economic and political stability, colonial history and association with risks or terrorism. Singaporean passport holders currently top the list, enjoying visa-free access to 192 destinations worldwide. Afghan nationals, at the other end – only 23.

In a recent study, my co-author Samira Zare and I explored the challenges that tourists with low-ranking passports face at airport borders.

Travelling with a weak passport is costly and time-consuming. Before a holiday even begins, tourists with a weak passport navigate visa applications months in advance. They may attend interviews, provide extensive documentation and still be rejected.

Crossing a border is one of the most charged moments in any trip. Our research reveals that tourists regularly encounter both subtle and overt challenges at border control, which they perceive to be influenced by assumptions about their passport, nationality, race, gender and class. These experiences leave real emotional marks.

We found that tourists, particularly those with weak passports, often adopt certain qualities – softening their tone, smiling more than feels natural and overexplaining their itinerary – to project what we call “performed innocence or docility”. In other words, taking steps to demonstrate that they are bona fide tourists.

Participants described being asked “patronising” or “condescending” questions by border control agents, or asked more questions than their travel companions with different passports. Others described how they “have developed coping strategies which include using my title, making sure I speak quite articulately to the person”, and “[playing] up your intelligence and big words, the higher chances they’ll treat you better”.

Another explained that “there is safety in subservience. Why pick a fight during my holiday? I don’t have enough resources to take on such an elaborate infrastructure of ‘passport apartheid’.” Several said they have become “desensitised to” the extensive border scrutiny.

In particular, tourists of certain nationalities, ethnic minorities and women travelling alone reported being subjected to extended questioning, secondary screening and what they described as a baseline suspicion. The emotional impact was profound. Participants reported embarrassment, shame, anxiety, self-doubt, blame and anger that lingered after the border crossing, sometimes tainting the entire trip. One described his feeling of powerlessness:

There’s no dignity because you’re in front of everyone who are thinking … [that] I’ve done something illegal, dodgy … You lose your agency in that moment because you are completely at their mercy.

Tourism research has long focused on the positive restoration that travel offers – relaxation, adventure and escape. Our study suggests that for some tourists, the journey to their holiday begins with dread: “Even with the right paperwork and visas, there is always a lingering fear that you may not be allowed into the country.”

Tightening borders, shrinking mobility

Globally, borders are becoming more complex, more digitised and, for many tourists, more restrictive. The introduction of the EU’s entry-exit system, which requires biometric border checks for non-EU visitors, suggests that borders will increasingly operate through automated surveillance, pre-arrival data checks and algorithmic risk profiling, rather than human discretion.

Decisions about who can cross are now embedded in visa application portals, electronic travel authorisations and advance passenger data systems. Digitalisation may streamline borders, but it comes with risks. When discrimination is embedded in an algorithm rather than human decision, it becomes far more difficult to see, challenge or overturn.

The burden of proof for travellers is increasing. From February 2026, the UK’s new Electronic Travel Authorisation system came into full effect, with unexpected implications for British dual nationals. British citizens who hold another nationality are now required to present a valid British passport. A British citizen with an expired UK passport could be denied boarding.

Increasing document requirements already affect tourists with weak passports. As one participant said: “You must carry [a lot] of documents. I still have a habit of carrying unnecessary documents … just everything to prove that I am who I say I am, and I can travel.”

Yet what counts as sufficient proof is not necessarily a settled issue. Passport strength and travel access is relative and constantly shifting, shaped by geopolitics, diplomacy and political will. The goalposts for who must prove themselves, and how, are always moving.

International tourism generates trillions of dollars annually and depends on the flow of people across borders. Yet there is a lack of recognition of the structural inequality that shapes who can participate in that flow, and the emotional toll on those who navigate it at a disadvantage. Research shows visa restrictions alone deter tourism inflows by around 20%.

An industry that measures success in arrivals and revenue appears to have little incentive to care about who gets left behind at the border. But this isn’t entirely true. When a tourist arrives after hours of questioning, suspicion, and unwelcoming treatment, that experience also becomes part of how they perceive the destination. It shapes whether they return, what they tell others and how they see themselves as travellers.