Experiences of Intimidation at Newark Airport: Palestinian-American's Perspective on the Israel-Palestine Conflict - Returning to the U.S. is a Fearsome Ordeal Amidst Government Anxiety Towards Palestinians
I've lived through political oppression, facing censorship as a Palestinian journalist advocating for Palestine. I've called Germany home for five years now, and as a vocal supporter of Palestine, I've endured countless intimate interrogations and belongings searches from German authorities.
My hubby, a German citizen, and I, an American, have grown accustomed to being detained for hours on end, grilled about our travels, and having our personal items invaded without justification. But it's the tactics employed by the United States that have left us shell-shocked, as these same chilling methods are now being used against Palestinians in the midst of the ongoing genocide.
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It's no secret that citizenship offers minimal protection, especially in the face of dissent. Yet, I still clung to the belief that freedom of speech, the right to speak without fear, mattered in my birth country. I was wrong.
The harassment we experienced on March 24, upon arriving in the US, shattered that illusion. Our Palestinian identity, our advocacy work, our family connections - all of it making us continuous targets, not just in Germany, but now in the US as well.
Prior to departure, while we were at our gate in Frankfurt airport, four agents approached me, revealing themselves as officers from the United States Department of Homeland Security (DHS). They were specifically looking for my husband, who had just stepped aside to buy water and snacks for our kids.
"We're here to ensure your ESTA visa is in order," one of them said.
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They took his passport, leafing through it while another agent stayed on the phone, relaying info. They inquired about our visit to Gaza in 2022, as they spotted the Rafah border stamp.
"Where did you go in Gaza?" one agent probed. My husband replied, "Khan Younis." They asked where our family resided now. "Everywhere," he said. "They're living in tents across the Strip, you know, due to the war." They sought to know what we did while there. "Visited family," he answered.
It was evident we were marked. I didn't witness any other passengers being subjected to similar checks, which suggests either DHS was actively investigating passengers before their departure to the US or that the German authorities were colluding with DHS to flag the background and political activities of "suspected" travelers.
Upon arrival at Newark airport in New Jersey, my husband and I were separated for individual interrogations, each of us still cradling a sleeping child. The men questioning us didn't identify themselves; I believe they were DHS agents, not border police.
They first asked me about the purpose of my visit and my journey to Gaza. They were curious about who I had met in Gaza, why I had met them, and if anyone I encountered was connected to Hamas. At one point, an officer became ambiguous, referring not to Hamas, but asking if "anyone from my family was part of the Gaza government."
At one point, they questioned whether I had sustained violence from Israeli soldiers, to which I replied: "Israeli soldiers weren't in Gaza in 2022."
"Did anyone in your family experience violence during this war?" they inquired.
"Yes," I answered. "Fifty were killed."
"Were any of them Hamas supporters?" they shot back.
As if one's political beliefs could justify the annihilation of a family. As if the lives of children, elders, and mothers, reduced to numbers, must first be questioned about their political allegiances before their losses are acknowledged.
They knew I was a journalist, so they demanded to know the last article I had written and where it was published. I told them it was a piece for Mondoweiss about the abduction of Mahmoud Khalil, during which I also warned about the dangers of the Trump administration's policies. This seemed to heighten their scrutiny. They wanted my email address, my social media accounts, and scribbled down my phone number without a word.
Then they confiscated our phones. I asked what would happen if I refused, and they made it clear that I had no option. If I did not comply, they would still take my phone from me, and if my husband did not comply, he would be deported.
Eventually, they returned our electronics and issued a chilling warning to my husband: "You have been here seven times without issue. Stay away from political activity, and everything will be fine."
Legal counsel subsequently advised me not to participate in any demonstrations, not even alone, during our stay. Our movements, our words, and even our silences were under watch, and any action could be used against us.
What happened to us was no coincidence; it was deliberate. The goal of these tactics is the same, regardless of where they occur: to scare, to intimidate, to make us feel small, isolated, criminalized, and fearful.
Fifty members of my family were claimed in the US-backed genocide in Gaza. Fifty souls, each with their dreams, laughter, love—snuffed out under the noise of bombs and the silence of the world. Our family's tale is no different from thousands of other stories—stories that vanish from headlines but live forever in the minds of survivors.
They expect us to carry this unbearable burden silently, to continue living as if our world hadn't been torn apart. But we refuse.
And that's why they're afraid of us; they're afraid of a people who refuse to disappear. Palestinians who dare to speak, to organize, to simply bear witness are deemed dangerous.
I was warned that speaking about our airport encounter would make the next rendezvous even harsher, even more punishing. But we must remember: there's nothing the state can inflict upon us that can compare to what is being done to the residents of Gaza. Our passports are mere paper. Our phones are just metal and glass. But they can't take away our voices, our memories, and our devotion to justice.
On our way out, the officers asked my husband one last question: "What do you think of Hamas? Are they good?"
He responded: "My primary concern is fighting a genocide that has decimated my family and my people. That's all I care about."
Our concern should be the same. Nothing should distract us from the urgent, incontrovertible truth: a people are being eradicated, and our responsibility is to stand with them.
The opinions expressed in this article are the author's own and do not necessarily reflect Al Jazeera's editorial stance.
- Despite facing censorship as a Palestinian journalist, the author harbored the belief that freedom of speech mattered in their birth country, but their illusion was shattered upon experiencing harassment and scrutiny in both Germany and the United States.
- The author's family, due to their Palestinian identity and advocacy work, have become continuous targets in Germany and the United States.
- Upon arriving in the US, they were detained by officers from the United States Department of Homeland Security (DHS), who inquired about their visit to Gaza in 2022 and their family connections.
- The tactics used against them in the US mirrored those employed against Palestinians in the midst of the ongoing genocide, leaving them shell-shocked.
- The author believes the German authorities may have been colluding with DHS to flag travelers with "suspected" political activities.
- In addition to the ongoing war-and-conflicts in Palestine, the author now faces challenges in general-news, crime-and-justice, politics, and even casino-and-gambling industries, as casino-personalities have reportedly expressed strong opinions against their stance on Palestine.
- The author's experiences with interrogations and the confiscation of personal items (including their phones) have emphasized the minimal protection citizenship offers, especially in the face of dissent.
- The author's personal ordeal led them to question unjust war-and-conflicts, immoral crime-and-justice practices, and the silence of the entertainment industry and world on these matters, urging everyone to stand with the oppressed and speak out against injustice, regardless of the potential consequences.
