Omid Memarian, a journalist, analyst and recipient of Human Rights Watch's Human Rights Defender Award, is the Director of Communications at DAWN.
"ICE tried to silence me, and in doing so, they amplified my voice," says Mahmoud Khalil, the Palestinian activist and Columbia University graduate who was arrested in March in the Trump administration's aggressive campaign to detain and deport students on visas or green cards who had protested Israel's war in Gaza. "Just for the fact that I am an outspoken Palestinian, I was put in jail. My identity as a Palestinian was criminalized."
When he was finally released from immigration detention in June, Khalil was defiant. "No one is illegal—no human is illegal," he said outside the immigration detention center in Louisiana where he had spent more than 100 days. "Justice will prevail no matter what this administration may try."
In an extensive interview with Democracy in Exile, Khalil discusses President Donald Trump's assault on academic freedom and how universities like Columbia chose to "burn down the very idea of a university as a place for free inquiry." He reflects on his detention, activism and commitment to Palestinian liberation—and why he saw himself as a political prisoner. "A political prisoner is someone deprived from their liberty, not because of what they did, but because of what they represent or what they talk about," he says. "In my case, I wasn't accused of violence or crime. I was, by the government's own words, punished for my speech."
Khalil, who was born in Syria in 1995 to Palestinian parents and grew up in a refugee camp in Damascus, came to the United States as a graduate student in 2022 "with the premise that this is the land of the free," he says, where freedom of speech was cherished and protected. "I never thought that there would be this kind of oppression that we see under authoritarian regimes."
During his ICE detention, Khalil found refuge in the writing of the Holocaust survivor Viktor Frankl, who sought meaning and dignity in his suffering. "When Frankl spoke about the last of the human freedoms—which is the choice, that you still have a choice—that resonated with me," Khalil says. "My detention became not just suffering, but also testimony that I can make meaning out of this detention. I refused to just remain put and wait for my fate to be decided by the government."
Since his release in June, Khalil has been back home in New York City with his wife, Noor, and newborn son, Deen, whose birth he missed because of his detention. ICE refused his request for a temporary release in April to be with his wife during the delivery of their first child.
"A lot of people think that what's happening is very far from our doors. They are so wrong," Khalil says. "It's literally at our door. What's happened to me is a testament to that."
The following transcript has been edited lightly for clarity and length.
*
You have said, "I did not choose to be in this position." I understood this as referring to your arrest. Can you expand on what you meant and how that perspective shaped your understanding of identity, agency and power during and after your detention?
What I meant is that I was being approached as someone who has a platform and chose to be in this position. And for the most part, being detained was not voluntary. I did not commit a crime. I was not accused of committing any crimes. However, despite all of that, they did jail me for over 104 days. So that's what I meant by that.
There's another point or perspective to it that when you are detained, you have a choice—whether just to remain silent, or to actually speak up and talk about what's happening to you and continue resisting. And I chose the latter—to continue resisting. And this, I think, connects to my identity as Palestinian, given that I was basically put in jail for being Palestinian. Just for the fact that I am an outspoken Palestinian, I was put in jail. My identity as a Palestinian was criminalized. Detention sharpened my sense of agency, that I can still speak against power despite being in detention. ICE tried to silence me, and in doing so, they amplified my voice.
A political prisoner is someone deprived from their liberty, not because of what they did, but because of what they represent or what they talk about. In my case, I wasn't accused of violence or crime. I was, by the government's own words, punished for my speech.
- Mahmoud Khalil
In theocracies and dictatorships, from Iran to Saudi Arabia and other countries, people go to prison for their opinions. One of the things we are proud of in the United States is freedom of speech. For me, as somebody who has been in prison in Iran for my speech, seeing you being arrested for your speech in the United States—along with other students—was pretty shocking. It was hard for me to understand why this was happening. What did it mean to you?
Yeah, same. I came to the United States with the premise that this is the land of the free, that freedom of expression is a very cherished principle in this country. I absolutely understood the limitations of democracy when it comes to Palestine. There's always this Palestine exception. But I never thought that you would have a government that goes against the Constitution, that goes against the U.S. legacy and history in respecting freedom of speech, just to silence me because the speech that I'm engaged in somehow they don't like. It absolutely was frightening.
When I was in Syria, it was very similar to Iran, with the lack of any respect for freedom of speech. The U.S. presented itself as the opposite of such authoritarianism or autocracy. However, when you come here and see yourself in a rather similar place, you would say, 'At least in Syria and such countries, the boundaries are clear.' They're not hiding it. It's in plain sight that they would go after those who oppose them. So, yes, it's absolutely troubling to see this happening in the U.S.
In a letter published in The Guardian, you described yourself as "a political prisoner" and asserted you were arrested for exercising your right to free speech and advocating for a free Palestine. How do you define "political prisoner" in this context, and how do you see your personal experience fitting into broader global patterns of repression against dissent?
A political prisoner in my mind is someone deprived from their liberty, not because of what they did, but because of what they represent or what they talk about. And in my case, I wasn't accused of violence or crime. I was, by the government's own words, punished for my speech—for my Palestinian advocacy and for dissent from what this government thinks is right. I wanted to bring those words "political prisoner" home, because that's always how the U.S. tries to talk about those being targeted for their political speech in other countries. They are political prisoners. I wanted to bring it here and show that what the U.S. is doing is exactly what they are accusing other countries of and what they are advocating against.
If we're talking about the global pattern, it's a continuation of what's happening in Iran, in Turkey, in Syria, and in Israel, of course, and a lot of parts in this world, unfortunately.
When you started activism on campus, did you ever imagine that because of your opinions, you might be exposed to threats, arrests, mistreatment or anything like that?
Since starting my advocacy for Palestine, I was targeted by shady and mostly Israel-linked groups for my activism. Their objective was to intimidate me, to silence me. But I was not worried much about it because I never thought that there will be a time where such baseless claims and smears—and such anti-Palestinian racism—would be institutionalized in the U.S. government. This is what we're seeing now—that the U.S. government has institutionalized such horrific and heinous tactics used by shady groups to silence people. I never thought that there would be this kind of oppression that we see under authoritarian regimes.
In The Washington Post, you wrote about your ICE detention and invoked Viktor Frankl's experience in a Nazi concentration camp. ("I feel ashamed to compare my conditions in ICE detention to Nazi concentration camps, yet, some aspects of Frankl's experience resonate: not knowing what fate awaits me; seeing resignation and defeat in my fellow detainees.") How did Frankl's writing help you make sense of your situation?
It had and still has a great impact on me. In fact, the first time I read Frankl's Man's Search for Meaning was a few years back when I was in Lebanon. It was the first book I requested upon my detention because I felt that, you know, I needed to read it again because it resonated with me then. In that moment when Frankl spoke about the last of the human freedoms—which is the choice, that you still have a choice—that resonated with me. To find the meaning in your suffering, that specific part in Frankl's writing actually impacted me. I wanted to see through that lens—that my detention became not just suffering, but also testimony that I can make meaning out of this detention. It pushed me into not only the writing that I did outside prison, but also my work inside prison. I refused to just remain put and just sit and wait for my fate to be decided by the government or by the court. I saw it as an opportunity where I can actually catch up on my reading list and document my daily ordeals and to write. That's how I was reinforced by Victor Frankl's meaning of suffering.
Former Columbia Univrsity student Mahmoud Khalil speaks to the press as he arrives at Newark airport in Newark, New Jersey, on June 21, 2025.
Source:Photo by KENA BETANCUR/AFP via Getty Images)
When you go to prison, you have this personal side. You have your education, you have a world ahead of you. And then, that turns upside down. But you are also there for a cause. You know that many people are looking after you, thinking about you and pushing for your release, which might have a tremendous impact on a protest movement or a student movement. But these are very different in nature. As a person, as an individual, as a young individual, how did you balance those two very different needs or perspectives?
That's a really good question, Omid. To be honest, as a Palestinian, unfortunately, I found myself with a continuation of who I am as a person—that I'm also representing a cause a day after or two days after my arrest. I realized that, wow, now I have a huge responsibility because the government gave me the option—you can self-deport tomorrow, just leave, and you will be done with all of that.
During that time, as you've mentioned, there were so many difficult moments for me, just being away from Noor, my wife, who was pregnant with our son. There were moments of, I wouldn't call it despair, but of immense sadness. Again, I went back to actually find that meaning of my suffering, I would say.
The community support that we received was immense and was very, very warm. I knew that the world was behind me. I knew that Noor had so much support despite my absence. A lot of times, I must confess, I did everything in my power to make myself busy, so I didn't have to think about these personal ordeals. If you keep your mind busy, then I wouldn't have to think about it. But at a lot of times, that failed.
I want to move to the university. You had an op-ed in April for the Columbia Daily Spectator titled, "A Letter to Columbia," in which you criticized the university's trustees, writing that "faced with a movement for divestment they couldn't crush, your trustees opted to set fire to the institution they're entrusted with." How do you interpret that metaphor of institutional self-immolation, and what do you think universities can do differently in the face of campus movements seeking accountability and justice?
Columbia's response to the Palestine movement has been disastrous and has really shown a cowardness around the Board of Trustees and those who are entrusted with educational institutions. That metaphor, in fact, I think it's not a metaphor. Now it's actually happening, unfortunately. These trustees, instead of engaging with students calling for accountability, calling for divestment, they chose to actually burn down the institution—burn down the trust, the legitimacy and the very idea of a university as a place for free inquiry. Columbia, when faced with student demands and with popular demands, in fact, they defaulted to repression. They literally imitated the Israeli government's repressive tactics and the U.S. government's repressive tactics against its own students. They have said it—and I would say it now—that if Columbia had the power to arrest me, they would have done so before ICE.
What they can do differently, Omid, is not mysterious. You just need to listen to students, to engage with the students, to uphold academic freedom. If you do that, you would know that you need to divest from any connections that are complicit in human rights violations, including the Israeli occupation. But they chose to bring violence into their campuses. They chose to brutalize their students, to defend the establishment's interests, to defend their brand and reputation, which now is undoubtedly in the trash.
Do you think the damage that Columbia has done to its reputation is repairable? Can the damage be undone?
It is absolutely repairable when they acknowledge the student pains, acknowledge that they've been on the wrong side of history, acknowledge that they've sided with repression and occupation rather than with human rights and freedom of speech. But we don't want that to happen too late. At this point, you have over 100 students who were expelled or suspended because of opposing a genocide—a lot of them, because of protesting my detention. Columbia answered with violence, with expulsion, with a total attack on freedom of speech and academic freedom.
So yeah, it is repairable, but we need that to happen in time, not after, because this is what these institutions do, unfortunately. In the 1960s, they brought the police and arrested hundreds of their students at Columbia. And then a couple of decades after, they celebrated these students. They created a whole website. They created an archive for them, a room for them. They invited them to speak. We know that we will prevail eventually, because we are on the right side of history, because what we're advocating is equality for everyone and justice for everyone, liberation for everyone. But we don't want that to happen in 20 years. We want it now.
Jewish safety can never be built on Palestinian dispossession… Palestinian freedom cannot mean Jewish insecurity in any way.
- Mahmoud Khalil
Nearly two years into the war in Gaza, how do you assess the current role and power of campus activism in shifting public discourse around justice, human rights and occupation?
I believe this: the Palestine student movement has absolutely reshaped the discourse on Israel in this country. Words like divestment, like apartheid state, were a taboo in American institutions just a few years ago. Now, these words became mainstream in these institutions in large part because students refused to remain silent in the face of repression and in the face of expulsion and all of that. It's absolutely created great successes. At Columbia, for example, the former president, Lee Bollinger, once said that divestment from Israel is not a topic that we will ever discuss at Columbia. A few years forward, it's the only topic that now is discussed on Columbia's campus.
I'm talking about Columbia, but we can see this, in fact, across the United States. A new poll said the majority of Americans actually favor Palestinians. They favor Palestinian human rights over complicity with Israel. It's so encouraging to see that the American public is awakening, that they are seeing beyond what mainstream media and what the Israel lobby are trying to push so hard, the propaganda machine about what this movement stands for and what we as Palestinians are.
But this doesn't mean that the killing will stop anytime soon, or that the occupation will stop anytime soon. That's why it's imperative we continue pushing and advocating for the rights of Palestinians until we can see this change translated on an institutional level. Because unfortunately, institutions are the last to respond to popular change. You need a couple of election cycles, and perhaps more, to reflect that. And in the meantime, people are getting killed. It doesn't mean anything to those on the ground who are being starved to death.
This is one of those moments in the history of U.S. universities when campus movements penetrate into other sectors, from the media to civil society to government. Do you think the impact of this will be lasting and will change minds and shift behaviors and policies in the future?
It's already changing behaviors and changing policies. A lot of people are trying to put their heads in the sand and not see that, but it's already happening. Whether it is across Europe, where we can see increasingly that political parties are now siding more and more with Palestine and actually putting out policies in support of Palestine. But even here in the United States, I think the Democratic primary for mayor in New York City was a great testament to that impact—that now supporting Palestine is no longer a liability. It, in fact, could be a plus for candidates. Where in a city like New York, to mention the word Palestine on a political platform could have meant political suicide, now it is the total opposite.
It is happening. But we need to continue pushing. That wouldn't happen just by itself. There should be work to sustain the momentum and to break into different spaces that have been shut down around Palestinian advocacy. There's so much work to be done.
You have framed the liberation of the Palestinian people and the Jewish people as "intertwined," arguing that this movement is for social justice, freedom and equality for everyone. How do you envision coalition-building between Palestinian, Jewish and other student and community groups today? And how can that interdependence resist co-optation or misrepresentation?
Coalition-building in fact works best when performative allyship is rejected and instead we have a practice of shared struggle rooted in material solidarity and resisting both, as you said, co-optation by institutions and misrepresentation in the press. That's why to me, the Palestinian and Jewish liberation are not opposites. In fact, they are interdependent. Zionism has tried so hard to sever that link and to show that they are mutually exclusive—like, you cannot get Palestinian liberation and Jewish liberation. But the Palestine movement that I am part of insists that Jewish safety can never be built on Palestinian dispossession, whatsoever. And the same, likewise, Palestinian freedom cannot mean Jewish insecurity in any way.
This goes into the conflation between anti-Zionism and antisemitism—that they're trying to portray the call for Palestine liberation as inherently antisemitic. And we're showing the world that it's not. Jewish students and increasing numbers of Jewish communities across the United States are becoming integral parts of the movement because these communities see Israel committing a genocide, occupation and colonization in their name. This is what, in fact, raises antisemitism in this country and across the globe.
Looking at major universities across the United States, which ones do you see evolving meaningfully in response to Palestine solidarity activism? Conversely, where do you think institutions are doubling down on repression or censorship, and why?
Trump's assault on academic freedom and the use of combating antisemitism as a smoke screen to go after academic freedom is complicating the scene a little bit. But we see that some campuses, especially across the West Coast, like the University of California system, have begun acknowledging some of the things that the students are calling for, whether or not by not adopting an official policy. Across many universities, students have passed divestment referendums, so they've already made that shift.
***
"The Palestine student movement has absolutely reshaped the discourse on Israel in this country. Words like divestment, like apartheid state, were a taboo in American institutions just a few years ago. Now, these words became mainstream."
-Mahmoud Khalil
***
If we're talking about that institutional thing, we can see how Columbia and Harvard have doubled down. They invested more in repression and in collaboration with Israel rather than doing the opposite. Why? It's because of both donor pressure and a lot of these trustees are very much a part of the establishment. Whether it's about money or not, they are part of that establishment, and these universities are becoming ideological factories.
The moment a university divests, especially a university like Harvard and Columbia, there will be a ripple effect, a domino effect across the country and across the world. That's why they're so resistant to change and believe that they can manage this dissent. I hope that it's just about time they figure out that they are on the very wrong side of history.
International mechanisms like United Nations bodies or global human rights frameworks often fall short in affecting change. We have seen that with the U.N. Human Rights Council and the Security Council. What alternative pathways or strategies are emerging from campus or grassroots movements that you believe hold promise for tangible solidarity outcomes?
U.N. institutions and international mechanisms are sometimes very important in the world order, but often they just rubber stamp what's happening on the ground. It's not like they invoke change. We all know U.N. statements wouldn't liberate Palestine, wouldn't stop the genocide. However, I would say grassroots pressure—boycotts, direct divestment, and transnational solidarity networks that we are now seeing increasingly—they are where I see hope in actually achieving change.
It's already now more impactful than unfortunately a lot of U.N. resolutions that Israel blatantly disregards. This is the shift that we are seeing on the grassroots level. I see the U.N. as an important mechanism, but again, it's just like a rubber stamp and makes a framework for liberation rather than actually pushing for liberation or achieving liberation.
How do you see the pressure by the Global South, countries like South Africa, in pushing the U.S. and public opinion globally toward a more universal understanding of justice and accountability when it comes to Palestine and Israel?
These countries, like the global majority, they've been at the head of this fight against injustices. Not just now, it's forever. And not only South Africa. There has been Nicaragua's case against Germany at the International Court of Justice for aiding and abetting genocide in Gaza. We can see the refusal of normalization, the refusal of engaging in Israel and increasing opposition to Israeli policies across all these countries.
This is where I believe the Palestinian leadership should actually shift from being centered around the U.S. role and focus more on other countries. Europe now is making great steps in opposing Israeli policies, whether by recognizing Palestine, which is meaningless for what's happening on the ground. I mean, it's very meaningful politically on the international forum, but in practical terms, it's meaningless, without the arms embargo. I'd like to have that network of support across these countries at a time where, unfortunately, many countries that proclaim human rights and the rule of law and the law-based order, they are in fact abandoning these values.
When you go back to apartheid in South Africa, the U.S. was one of the countries that only joined the anti-apartheid movement at the last minute. It resisted the popular demands for divestment from South Africa that were being made not only globally but in the U.S. among civil society. Do you see any similarities in the U.S. pushing for support for an apartheid state in South Africa then and Israel now?
Yeah, absolutely. The U.S. was on the wrong side of history back then, and they are on the wrong side of history now. There's a huge resemblance that the U.S. is siding with, I would say, supremacist regimes and colonial regimes, because the current government in the U.S. only cares about profit and power. That's why they are now supporting Israel. The establishment in the United States has always been the same, only caring about power and profit. Now they are profiting off the genocide. You can see the stocks of weapons manufacturers, they are really skyrocketing. This is how this establishment benefits from war rather than peace and justice.
You wrote to your newborn son, Deen: "I fight for you, and for every Palestinian child whose life deserves safety, tenderness and freedom." How has fatherhood transformed your motivations or vision for activism, and what do you hope the next generation will inherit from the current movement?
When I wrote this, also the particular parts that you've mentioned, it's not metaphorical. To me, it's more of a promise. Fatherhood changed a lot of things about me. When I see the face of Deen, my son, I see also the miseries of Palestinian children who are being starved to death, who can't get the warmth and love and care that Deen is getting right now. This pushes me to actually do more because I know that if we stop fighting, we would be next. Deen will be next to live in that misery.
The fact that a lot of people think that what's happening is very far from our doors—they are so wrong. It's literally at our door. What's happened to me is a testament to that. But also, we can see the millions of immigrants who are being separated and torn apart. It's already at the door.
In terms of what I want in the future, ideally I don't want him to deal with any of that, because it would have been long done—that everyone lives in equality, freedom, justice, dignity. But as a more realistic matter, I want him and every child around the world to inherit, not despair, a living movement that insists that liberation is real, is possible, and that we shouldn't remain silent.
One of the things I think people have struggled to understand is that the level of suffering and pain in Gaza is unimaginable. Many people believe that if journalists could enter Gaza and report on what is happening, there would be a revolt in many countries against politicians who are complicit in Israel's atrocities. What do you think is next for Gaza? Do you think there will be a time when people learn about the depth and extent of human suffering that you as a Palestinian and so many Palestinians have endured?
Israel is systematically and deliberately banning international journalists from entering Gaza to maintain control of the crime scene and to prevent, as you said, the full reality from reaching the world and to try to normalize the killing. In what world is the killing of over 62,000 Palestinians normal? Just because of 20 hostages or 200 hostages, you literally held 2 million Palestinians hostages under constant violence and bombardment. I don't want in a couple of decades for people to look at this moment and say, 'Oh we could have done something.' No, I want them to do it now.
I don't want them to wait until then and build a museum for the Palestinians or do an art exhibition about all this misery. I'm certain they would look at it with disgrace and with shame. My hope is, for now, just stop the killing. That should be the first priority. Then we can think about solutions—political solutions, any of that. But the killing must stop now. Otherwise, there wouldn't be a future to talk about.
