Fear and intimidation at Newark Airport Israel’s conflict and the two

I am not strange to political repression and control. I lived in Germany five years ago, and as a Palestinian journalist involved in the supportive call of the Palestinian, she faced repeated harassment at the hands of the German authorities.

My husband, a German citizen, and I, an American citizen, used to hold him for hours at one time, and they were interrogated about our trips, and to search for our property accurately without clear justification. But we were shocked when we discovered that these tactics, designed to intimidate and deterred, were now dealt with by the United States to target Palestinians amid the constant genocide.

I always knew that citizenship has only provided limited protection, especially when the opposition was involved. But deep down, I still think that freedom of expression, and the right to speak without fear, means something in my birth.

I was wrong. Harassment on March 24, upon his arrival in the United States, shattered this illusion. Our Palestinian identity, our political action, and our family’s relations – all of this makes us permanent targets, not only in Germany, but now in the United States as well.

Before leaving, while we were at the Frankfurt Airport gate, four agents approached me and identified themselves as officers from the US Department of Internal Security (DHS). They said they were specifically looking for my husband, who had just exceeded to buy water and juice for our children.

One of them said: “We just want to make sure that your Esta visa is in good condition.”

They took his passport, turned him and photographing each page while one of them remained on the phone, and transferred information. They asked about our visit to Gaza in 2022, after seeing the sealing of the border.

“Where did you go in Gaza?” One agent request.
Khan Yunis, my husband answered.
“Where does your family live now?”
“End,” he said. “They live in tents across the tape, as you know, because of the war.”
“What did you do while you are there?”
“He visited the family,” he answered.

It was clear that we were aiming. I haven’t seen any other passengers undergoing a similar examination. This means that either the Ministry of National Security was actively looking for passengers before their departure to the United States, or – more worrying – the German authorities were communicating directly with the Ministry of National Security to form the background and political activity of “suspected” travelers.

Upon arrival at Newark Airport to New Jersey, my husband and I were separated and interrogated individually, each of us still holds a sleeping child. The men who interrogate us did not introduce themselves; I think they were DHS agents, not the border police.

They first asked me about the purpose of my trip and my travel to Gaza. They wanted to know who I met in Gaza, why I met them, and whether any person I faced belonging to Hamas. At some point, he became a mysterious officer and instead of returning to Hamas, he asked whether “anyone from my family) was part of the government in Gaza.”

At some point, they asked if I had suffered from violence from the Israeli soldiers, which she replied: “The Israeli soldiers were not in Gaza in 2022.”

“Did anyone in your family be violent during this war?”
“Yes,” I answered. “Fifty killed.”
“Was any of them supporters of Hamas?” The response you received was.

As if political affiliation can justify the burning of the family. As if children, elders, and mothers, which were reduced to numbers, must first be interrogated for their loyalty before their death is recognized.

They knew that I was a journalist, so they demanded the knowledge of the last article that I wrote and where it was published. I told them that it was a piece of Mondois about the kidnapping of Mahmoud Khalil, as she also warned of the risks of Trump administration policies. This seems to be more audited. They demanded my email address and my social media accounts, and they blocked my phone number without explanation.

Then they took our phones. When I asked what would happen if I refused, they made it clear that I have no choice. If I do not comply, my phone will continue to take me, and if my husband does not comply, he will be deported.

When they finally returned our electronics, they issued a chilling warning to my husband: “I was here seven times without a problem. Stay from political activity, and everything will be fine.”

After that, I was told by the legal advisor not to attend any demonstrations, not even myself, during our stay. Our movements, words, and even our silence were under observation, and anything can be used against us.

What happened to us was not random. It was intended. It was supposed to scare and intimidate us. Whether it is in Germany, in the United States, or anywhere else, the goal of these tactics is the same: to make us feel young, isolated, criminal, afraid. They want us to doubt the value of every word we write, to wonder about every protest that we join, to swallow every fact before you reach our lips. They want us to forget the people we lost.

Fifty members of our family were killed in the US -backed genocide in Gaza. Fifty souls, each with their dreams, laughter, and love, were extinguished under the roar of bombs and the silence of the world. Our family’s story is no different from thousands of others – stories that fade from the main headlines but live forever in the hearts of survivors.

They expect us to carry this unbearable weight, to bend our heads and to continue to live as if our world has not separated. But we do not bow.

That is why they fear us; They fear people who refuse to disappear. Palestinians who dare speak and organize, and simply carry their witnesses as dangerous.

I warned that talking about our airport experience will make the next meeting more cruel and more punished. But we must remember: There is nothing that this country can do for us that can compare what is being done for the people of Gaza. Our passports are paper only. Our phones are only metal and glass. These are things that they can confiscate, things they can break. But they cannot get rid of our voices, our memories and our commitment to justice.

On our way out, the officers asked my husband a final question: “What do you think of Hamas? Are they good?”

He answered: “My anxiety is to fight the genocide that took the life and freedom of my family and my people. Anything else, I am not interested in answering.”

Everything that raises our anxiety should be. Nothing should distract us from the urgent truth that cannot be denied: people are slaughtered, and our responsibility is to stand with them.

The opinions expressed in this article are the author of the author and do not necessarily reflect the position of the editorial island.