The Christian converts the US is deporting back to Iran

One Monday in mid-October, after a year in US immigration detention, officers arrived unannounced at Majid’s cell in Texas.

They told him simply to “pack up” – that he was being moved – even though an immigration judge had already granted him protection from removal five months ago. Shackled at the wrists, waist and ankles, he was driven through the night to a military airfield in Louisiana.

Majid – not his real name – had fled Iran for the US in October 2024, after repeated detentions and alleged torture, first because of his involvement in the Mahsa Amini protests, and later because of his conversion to Christianity.

When US officials forced him to board a plane carrying more than 150 deportees heading to Managua, Nicaragua, he remembers being the only non–Latin American on the plane. Hours later, the flight landed and officials handcuffed him, denied his request for asylum and directed him onto an itinerary routing him through Venezuela and Turkey toward Iran – a journey he understood as a forced return.

Majid later was able to go into hiding in Istanbul, terrified of what awaited him back in Iran. He is one of several Iranian Christian converts who spoke to the BBC – most anonymously out of fear for relatives back home – whose asylum claims have been rejected in the past year. Their accounts point to inconsistencies in how US authorities assess the risks facing Iranian returnees and how sensitive religious information in asylum files is handled.

Their experiences also run contrast to other elements of US foreign policy, as President Trump publicly laments the plight of Christian persecutions abroad, threatening to send troops into Nigeria “guns a-blazing” if its government “continues to allow the killing of Christians”.

A White House official told the BBC that all individuals deported have had their asylum claims fully adjudicated before removal. The official said that recent deportations to Iran involved people with final orders of removal or those who had requested voluntary departure. They added that strict confidentiality rules prevent officials from disclosing whether someone applied for asylum and was denied.

As the US continues its crackdown on illegal immigration, it has made unprecedented changes to its policy towards Iranian asylum seekers. In late September, authorities arranged a chartered flight to Iran via Qatar – the first of its kind in decades, given the absence of diplomatic ties and Iran’s human-rights record. The flight represented an unusual example of cooperation between Iran and the US.

Dozens of Iranians were placed on the flight, reportedly in shackles. One deportee, Sina, later described armed guards escorting passengers on the Qatar–Tehran leg. On arrival, they were questioned about their time in the US and their religious activities but were not immediately arrested, he said in a video, which was posted on a Farsi-language YouTube channel.

Among the passengers was the wife of Ali, an Iranian Christian convert now living in the US. She has since been contacted and summoned by Iranian intelligence.

“They deported my wife back to Iran even though she is a Christian,” Ali says – the BBC has given him a pseudonym to protect the identity of him and his wife. “Now Iranian intelligence is after her and me.”

For Ali’s wife and others, the danger was heightened by what their lawyers say was a critical mistake.

Attorney Ali Herischi, who represents Ali, his wife, and another deportee from the September flight says several clients reported that sensitive information – including statements about religious conversion, political activity and the reasons they sought asylum – was not removed before deportation.

Converts from Islam make up a significant share of Iran’s 800, 000 Christian population, says Steve Dew-Jones of Article 18, a UK-based advocacy group that monitors violations against Christians in the country.

With officially recognised churches tightly restricted, house churches have begun to emerge across the country. But practitioners continue to face persecution, Dew-Jones says.

Converting from Islam is treated as apostasy, and converts face arrest, interrogation and prison terms.

Arrests have increased sixfold between 2023 and 2024, the Center for Human Rights in Iran reports. “Since the recent Iran–Israel clashes, we’ve seen the authorities use the term ‘Zionist Christianity’ even more aggressively. By branding converts as agents of Israel, the state frames ordinary religious practice as a national-security threat,” Dew-Jones adds.

Some Iranians seeking asylum abroad cite conversion as part of their claim, while Iranian officials accuse them of exaggerating or fabricating conversions to strengthen their cases.

But it is unclear how many US asylum cases may be exaggerated, versus real fear of persecution.

“It’s impossible to judge the sincerity of someone’s faith – there’s no window into people’s souls,” Dew-Jones says. “Yes, the system can be abused, but we also see many legitimate converts whose testimonies and church records aren’t taken seriously by asylum courts.”

Asylum outcomes can diverge sharply even within a single household, Iranian asylum seekers and legal experts say.

In late June, ICE officers arrived at Marjan and Reza’s house in Los Angeles. In video filmed by their pastor, Marjan is seen collapsed outside as agents detain her husband. Moments earlier she had called him pleading for help. The couple – both Christian converts from Iran who had applied for asylum in the US – were taken to separate detention centres. Weeks later, their cases diverged: Marjan was granted asylum in California, while Reza, held in New Mexico, was ordered to be removed to a third country.

After their June arrest, the Department of Homeland Security said on its X account that “during a targeted enforcement operation in Los Angeles, Border Patrol agent apprehended two Iranian nationals unlawfully present in the US – both flagged as subjects of national security interest.”

Pastor Ara Torosian, who filmed their arrest, disputes the Department of Homeland Security’s claim that the couple were unlawfully present in the US.

He says they entered legally through a humanitarian programme and had work authorisations. “How can it be dangerous for the wife but not for the husband?” asks pastor, Ara Torosian, who himself fled Iran in 2010 after being detained for smuggling Bibles.

Majid, who managed to slip through the airport in Turkey, has been living in limbo since, while his lawyer follows up on his case. His wife, whose asylum case is still pending, now lives in Los Angeles with their 1.5-year-old daughter – a child who has never met her father.

In the US, Ali is living with a friend from his church, and hoping his own asylum claim will be more successful than that of his wife, who was deported to Iran this year.

“If they grant me asylum, how can I stay here when my wife is in Iran? If they deport me, I could go to prison the moment I land.”

Unable to work legally or open a bank account. He first stayed with a distant relative “just until my wife’s case was resolved,” but she was never released and, after nearly a year in detention, was deported. A small church later offered him temporary shelter.

“Anytime they ask me to leave, I have to sleep in parks,” he says.

He is awaiting an immigration hearing but sees no good outcome. His wife has received another summons from Iranian intelligence.

“If they arrest her and demand I return,” he says quietly, “I’ll have no choice.”