Elijah Kahlenberg is an editorial intern with Democracy in Exile. He has been at the forefront of youth-based anti-war and peace activism surrounding Israel-Palestine in his role as the founder and president of Atidna International. Elijah has previously written opinion pieces in the Forward, LA Progressive, Newsday, International Digest, and other outlets.
Mohsen Mahdawi, a Palestinian student at Columbia University, was not silenced by fear as others fell victim to the same repression. He became a visible leader in the university's Palestine Student Union—a coalition of student organizations united in protest against the carnage Israel is inflicting upon Gaza—and took his commitment to justice a step further by extending a hand to his Jewish and Israeli peers in the name of peace. Yet Mohsen's stand for freedom, nonviolence and opposition to fascist brutality abroad ultimately led to his captivity by fascist forces at home.
On April 30, after enduring two weeks of unjust detainment by ICE, Mohsen was finally released from detention. Outside the courtroom which granted him his freedom, Mohsen stood beside a storied legion of historic leaders—those arrested and vilified in their struggle for peace, equality, and nonviolence—as he declared to the regime that detained him that "I am not afraid of you." As a Jewish peace activist and Mohsen's friend, I can testify that he reflects the kind of Palestinian peacemaker our world desperately needs—and one our leaders willfully refuse to acknowledge exists.
Mohsen's story is harrowing—but it is also deeply revealing. He channeled his pain into love and a vision of light. This is not just a story about one man's character. It is a story about how even the most compassionate Palestinian voices—those explicitly committed to peace—are repressed. That silencing carries dangerous implications far beyond Mohsen's case. However, after such unmitigated repression, his example proves voices for peace and love will only grow stronger, triumphing over the darkness and hatred those in power seek to instill.
In a political environment where speaking out for Palestinian rights and freedom is increasingly and unjustly equated with violent extremism, Mohsen stands out for his clarity and empathy. I saw firsthand how he reached across lines of difference with grace and openness. Amid the venom that so often characterizes discourse around Israel and Palestine, love set him apart. "If love guides your actions," he told me, "then you know in your heart you are seeking justice."
He said this immediately after recounting how the Israel Defense Forces (IDF) killed his uncle and 13-year-old friend, alongside Israel's denial of medical care to his younger brother, resulting in his death. Despite that unimaginable loss, he refused to hate.
Love guides everything Mohsen does. He made clear during protests at Columbia University that he championed liberation not only for Palestinians but for everyone—especially Jews and Israelis. He openly condemns antisemitism, emphasizing that it has no place in the movement. That someone like Mohsen could be called a 'terrorist' or 'antisemite' for seeking unity and collective liberation should concern us all.
Instead of being recognized for his compassion and bridge-building, Mohsen's peaceful advocacy became the very grounds for his detention and deportation. The last time we spoke, he mentioned that he had been staying with a friend. He believed U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) was waiting near his apartment to arrest him—a fear that proved justified. Despite being a green card holder who has lived in the U.S. for a decade, he was arrested after being invited to an immigration office for what was supposed to be his citizenship test. He had worried it might be a trap. In a cruel twist substantiating those concerns, the promise of American liberty became the tool used to strip him of his freedom.
Today, despite being liberated from detention, Mohsen's politically charged deportation case surges forward. His messages of freedom, love and opposing war embody such a threat that the Trump administration refuses to back down. To justify their actions, this fascistic administration has sought to bend reality. According to U.S. Secretary of State Marco Rubio, the official justification for Mohsen's deportation is that his actions "potentially undermine" Middle East peace. That framing is not just incorrect—it is Orwellian.
Mohsen's activism centers on building peace, including with those he vehemently disagrees. He reached out to Israelis and even attempted to sit down with Professor Shai Davidai, an Israeli Columbia University professor known for harassing Palestinian students. Mohsen invited him to coffee. Davidai walked out. Months later, he labeled Mohsen and other protest leaders "pro-Hamas" terrorists on social media to a rapturous applause and hate speech from his followers.
Mohsen and other Palestinian activists, contrary to Rubio and Davidai's lies, are the future of Middle East peace—not its enemy. While both Rubio and Davidai have led careers advancing destruction and animosity, Mohsen has molded the pain inflicted upon his family and nation into outlets for reconciliation, mutual understanding and nonviolence. At every occasion, he stresses the injustices done to his loved ones should never happen to anyone else, whether they be Palestinian or Israeli. Indeed, the stark contrast goes without saying.
It was this shared belief in peacebuilding, freedom and unity that brought Mohsen and I together. I am a Jewish student in my final semester at the University of Texas at Austin, and the president of Atidna International—one of the only campus organizations committed to bringing together Arab, Israeli, Palestinian and Jewish students for dialogue and peacebuilding. When we spoke, Mohsen and I immediately connected. He mentioned a joint Israeli-Palestinian peace and anti-war effort he was organizing at Columbia. As someone who plans to attend Columbia Law School in 2027, I was inspired, telling him "I can't wait to join you in this work."
Mohsen is a light amid darkness. His deportation case indicates the normalization of a terrifying precedent: no matter how peaceful you are, how committed to dialogue, or how clearly you reject antisemitism—if you are Palestinian and visible, you are a target.
One may ask why peacemakers have a target on their back. To fascistic leaders like Trump at home or Netanyahu abroad, peace is the ultimate enemy. They cannot manufacture the hatred and dehumanization needed to advance their autocratic policies against someone like Mohsen, whose message is one of brotherhood and unity for everyone—especially his Jewish and Israeli cousins. Every hate-supporting argument designed to produce an enemy out of the "other" is suffocated through Mohsen's existence, making people like him the greatest threat as a result.
Despite the fear the Trump Administration seeks to implant within Palestinian activists and the pro-Palestine community, Mohsen's courage and commitment to peace only intensifies. The question is whether we—his Jewish and Israeli cousins—will grab the olive branch that Mohsen has sacrificed his liberties and livelihood to extend to us.
Some far-right extremists snobbishly ask, "Where are the Palestinian peace activists?" in their effort to discount Palestinian activism. One is right in front of us. Yet, these same voices sit back and cheer on his persecution. Perhaps such fanatics need to first answer a more fitting question: "are you willing to accept any Palestinian activism at all?"
