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I am no stranger to political repression and censorship. I have lived in Germany for five years now, and as a Palestinian journalist involved in pro-Palestinian advocacy, I have experienced repeated harassment at the hands of the German authorities.

My husband, a German citizen, and I, an American citizen, have grown accustomed to being held for hours at a time, subjected to invasive interrogations about our travels, and having our belongings thoroughly searched without clear justification. But we were shocked to find out that these tactics, designed to intimidate and deter, have now been taken up by the United States to target Palestinians amid the ongoing genocide.

I always knew that citizenship offered only limited protection, especially when dissent is involved. But deep down, I still believed that freedom of speech, the right to speak without fear, meant something in my country of birth.

I was wrong. The harassment we endured on March 24 upon arriving in the US shattered that illusion. Our Palestinian identity, our political work, our family ties – all of it makes us permanent targets, not just in Germany, but now in the US, too.

Prior to departure, while we were at our gate in Frankfurt airport, four agents approached me and identified themselves as officers from the US Department of Homeland Security (DHS). They said they were specifically looking for my husband, who had just stepped aside to buy water and juice for our sons.

“We just want to make sure your ESTA visa is in order,” one of them said.

They took his passport, flipping through it and photographing every single page while one of them stayed on the phone, relaying information. They asked about our visit to Gaza in 2022, after seeing the Rafah border stamp.

“Where did you go in Gaza?” one agent asked.
“Khan Younis,” my husband replied.
“Where does your family live now?”
“All over,” he said. “They’re living in tents across the Strip, you know, because of the war.”
“What did you do while you were there?”
“Visited family,” he answered.

It was clear we were targeted. I did not see any other passengers undergoing a similar check. This meant that either DHS was actively researching passengers before their departure to the US, or – even more troubling – the German authorities were communicating directly with DHS to flag the background and political activity of “suspect” travellers.

Upon arrival at Newark airport in New Jersey, my husband and I were separated and individually interrogated, each of us still holding a sleeping child. The men questioning us did not identify themselves; I believe they were DHS agents, not border police.

They first asked me about the purpose of my trip and my travel to Gaza. They wanted to know who I had met in Gaza, why I had met them, and whether anyone I encountered was affiliated with Hamas. At one point, an officer deliberately became ambiguous and instead of referencing Hamas, asked if “anyone from [my] family was a part of the government in Gaza”.

At one point, they asked whether I experienced violence from Israeli soldiers, to which I responded: “Israeli soldiers weren’t in Gaza in 2022.”

“Did anyone in your family experience violence during this war?”
“Yes,” I responded. “Fifty were killed.”
“Were any of them Hamas supporters?” was the response I received.

As if political affiliation could justify the incineration of a family. As if children, elders, mothers, reduced to numbers, must first be interrogated for their loyalties before their deaths can be 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 that it was a piece for Mondoweiss about the abduction of Mahmoud Khalil, in which I also warned about the dangers of the Trump administration’s policies. This seemed to heighten their scrutiny. They demanded my email address, my social media accounts, and jotted down my phone number without explanation.

Then they took our phones. When I asked what would happen if I refused, they made it clear I had no choice. If I did not comply, my phone would still be taken from me, and if my husband did not comply, he would be deported.

When they finally returned our electronics, they issued a chilling warning to my husband: “You have been here seven times without an issue. Stay away from political activity, and everything will be fine.”

Subsequently, I was advised by legal counsel not to attend any demonstrations, not even by myself, during our stay. Our movements, our words, and even our silences were under watch, and anything could be used against us.

What happened to us was not random; it was intentional. It was meant to scare and intimidate us. Whether it is in Germany, in the US, or elsewhere, the goal of these tactics is the same: to make us feel small, isolated, criminalised, and afraid. They want us to doubt the worth of every word we write, to question every protest we join, to swallow every truth before it reaches our lips. They want us to forget the people we have lost.

Fifty members of our family were murdered in the US-backed genocide in Gaza. Fifty souls, each with their own dreams, laughter, and love, 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 vanish from headlines but live forever in the hearts of the survivors.

They expect us to carry this unbearable weight quietly, to bow our heads and continue living as if our world were not ripped apart. But we do not bow.

And that is why they fear us; they fear a people who refuse to disappear. Palestinians who dare to speak, to organise, to simply bear witness are marked as dangerous.

I was warned that speaking about our experience at the airport would make the next encounter even harsher, even more punishing. But we must remember: there is nothing this state can do to us that can compare to what is being done to the people of Gaza. Our passports are only paper. Our phones are only metal and glass. These are things they can confiscate, things they can break. But they cannot take away our voices, our memories, and our commitment 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 concern is fighting a genocide that has taken the lives and freedom of my family and my people. Anything else, I am not interested in answering.”

That should be all of our concern. Nothing should distract us from the urgent, undeniable truth: a people are being slaughtered, and our responsibility is to stand with them.

I am no stranger to political repression and censorship. I have lived in Germany for five years now, and as a Palestinian journalist involved in pro-Palestinian advocacy, I have experienced repeated harassment at the hands of the German authorities.

My husband, a German citizen, and I, an American citizen, have grown accustomed to being held for hours at a time, subjected to invasive interrogations about our travels, and having our belongings thoroughly searched without clear justification. But we were shocked to find out that these tactics, designed to intimidate and deter, have now been taken up by the United States to target Palestinians amid the ongoing genocide.

I always knew that citizenship offered only limited protection, especially when dissent is involved. But deep down, I still believed that freedom of speech, the right to speak without fear, meant something in my country of birth.

I was wrong. The harassment we endured on March 24 upon arriving in the US shattered that illusion. Our Palestinian identity, our political work, our family ties – all of it makes us permanent targets, not just in Germany, but now in the US, too.

Prior to departure, while we were at our gate in Frankfurt airport, four agents approached me and identified themselves as officers from the US Department of Homeland Security (DHS). They said they were specifically looking for my husband, who had just stepped aside to buy water and juice for our sons.

“We just want to make sure your ESTA visa is in order,” one of them said.

They took his passport, flipping through it and photographing every single page while one of them stayed on the phone, relaying information. They asked about our visit to Gaza in 2022, after seeing the Rafah border stamp.

“Where did you go in Gaza?” one agent asked.
“Khan Younis,” my husband replied.
“Where does your family live now?”
“All over,” he said. “They’re living in tents across the Strip, you know, because of the war.”
“What did you do while you were there?”
“Visited family,” he answered.

It was clear we were targeted. I did not see any other passengers undergoing a similar check. This meant that either DHS was actively researching passengers before their departure to the US, or – even more troubling – the German authorities were communicating directly with DHS to flag the background and political activity of “suspect” travellers.

Upon arrival at Newark airport in New Jersey, my husband and I were separated and individually interrogated, each of us still holding a sleeping child. The men questioning us did not identify themselves; I believe they were DHS agents, not border police.

They first asked me about the purpose of my trip and my travel to Gaza. They wanted to know who I had met in Gaza, why I had met them, and whether anyone I encountered was affiliated with Hamas. At one point, an officer deliberately became ambiguous and instead of referencing Hamas, asked if “anyone from [my] family was a part of the government in Gaza”.

At one point, they asked whether I experienced violence from Israeli soldiers, to which I responded: “Israeli soldiers weren’t in Gaza in 2022.”

“Did anyone in your family experience violence during this war?”
“Yes,” I responded. “Fifty were killed.”
“Were any of them Hamas supporters?” was the response I received.

As if political affiliation could justify the incineration of a family. As if children, elders, mothers, reduced to numbers, must first be interrogated for their loyalties before their deaths can be 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 that it was a piece for Mondoweiss about the abduction of Mahmoud Khalil, in which I also warned about the dangers of the Trump administration’s policies. This seemed to heighten their scrutiny. They demanded my email address, my social media accounts, and jotted down my phone number without explanation.

Then they took our phones. When I asked what would happen if I refused, they made it clear I had no choice. If I did not comply, my phone would still be taken from me, and if my husband did not comply, he would be deported.

When they finally returned our electronics, they issued a chilling warning to my husband: “You have been here seven times without an issue. Stay away from political activity, and everything will be fine.”

Subsequently, I was advised by legal counsel not to attend any demonstrations, not even by myself, during our stay. Our movements, our words, and even our silences were under watch, and anything could be used against us.

What happened to us was not random; it was intentional. It was meant to scare and intimidate us. Whether it is in Germany, in the US, or elsewhere, the goal of these tactics is the same: to make us feel small, isolated, criminalised, and afraid. They want us to doubt the worth of every word we write, to question every protest we join, to swallow every truth before it reaches our lips. They want us to forget the people we have lost.

Fifty members of our family were murdered in the US-backed genocide in Gaza. Fifty souls, each with their own dreams, laughter, and love, 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 vanish from headlines but live forever in the hearts of the survivors.

They expect us to carry this unbearable weight quietly, to bow our heads and continue living as if our world were not ripped apart. But we do not bow.

And that is why they fear us; they fear a people who refuse to disappear. Palestinians who dare to speak, to organise, to simply bear witness are marked as dangerous.

I was warned that speaking about our experience at the airport would make the next encounter even harsher, even more punishing. But we must remember: there is nothing this state can do to us that can compare to what is being done to the people of Gaza. Our passports are only paper. Our phones are only metal and glass. These are things they can confiscate, things they can break. But they cannot take away our voices, our memories, and our commitment 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 concern is fighting a genocide that has taken the lives and freedom of my family and my people. Anything else, I am not interested in answering.”

That should be all of our concern. Nothing should distract us from the urgent, undeniable truth: a people are being slaughtered, and our responsibility is to stand with them.

French President Emmanuel Macron and European Commission President Ursula von der Leyen are hosting a conference in Paris to attract United States-based academics and researchers in the wake of US President Donald Trump’s targeting of universities.

European Union commissioners on Monday announced half a billion euros ($568m) in incentives to lure international academics to the continent at the Choose Europe for Science conference.

The meeting at Paris’s Sorbonne University is targeted at academics and researchers who fear their work will be threatened by billions of dollars of US government spending cuts for universities and research bodies as well as attacks on higher education institutions over diversity policies and pro-Palestinian demonstrations.

Pro-Palestinian foreign students in the US have been arrested and sent to detention centres, often without following due process, while universities have been pressured to punish professors speaking out against the Gaza war. Campaigners said the Trump administration’s actions, including revocations of permanent resident status of students, have a chilling effect on academic freedom – a cornerstone of the American education system.

Trump’s campaign against universities has given Europe’s political leaders hope they could reap an intellectual windfall. Macron’s office said the EU is targeting researchers working in the fields of health, climate, biodiversity, artificial intelligence and space.

For her part, von der Leyen said she wanted EU member states to invest 3 percent of their gross domestic products in research and development by 2030.

What we know about Trump’s attacks on educational institutions

US universities and research facilities have come under increasing political pressure under Trump, including threats of federal funding cuts. Trump has pushed universities to punish pro-Palestine protesters and ordered them to drop diversity, equity and inclusion (DEI) measures aimed at providing better representation for minority and poorly served communities.

Trump and his voter base have accused US universities of promoting progressive ideology over conservative values. They say the universities have failed to protect the civil rights of conservative and Jewish students.

On April 14, Harvard University rejected a series of demands from the Trump administration. Within hours, the US Department of Education froze nearly $2.3bn in federal funding for the Ivy League institution.

Last week, Trump renewed his threat to strip Harvard of its tax-exempt status, a move that could cost the university billions of dollars if implemented. Harvard has described the president’s move as “leverage to gain control of academic decision-making”. The university in Cambridge, Massachusetts, has sued the administration.

On March 10, the Department of Education announced it had sent letters to 60 higher education institutions, warning them of “enforcement actions” if they did not protect Jewish students on campus as stipulated in Title VI of the Civil Rights Act.

In February, the Trump administration froze $400m in funds for Columbia University in New York City, which emerged as the epicentre of last year’s protests against Israel’s war on Gaza. Some universities have also received “stop work” orders – calls to suspend research projects funded by the government.

Cornell University in Ithaca, New York, said it had received more than 75 “stop work” orders from the US Department of Defense, according to a statement released by Cornell President Michael I Kotlikoff on April 8.

Elsewhere, hundreds of international students and recent graduates have had their US visas revoked – some have even been arrested – for participating in pro-Palestine demonstrations.

The Trump administration is also sharpening its attacks on the National Science Foundation, the government agency that funds basic science, maths and engineering research, especially at colleges and universities.

On May 2, the White House made a preliminary budget request to cut $4.7bn, or more than half of the agency’s $9bn budget. It follows two previous waves of grant cancellations in April as well as funding cuts to other public bodies.

What is Europe proposing?

In the wake of Trump’s moves, the EU is hoping to offer a political safe haven for US scientists and academics and also to “defend our [the EU’s] strategic interests and promote a universalist vision”, an official in Macron’s office told the AFP news agency.

Monday’s conference in Paris is the latest push to open Europe’s doors to US-based researchers. In April, Macron appealed to US university staff to “choose France” and unveiled plans for a funding programme to cover the costs of bringing foreign scientists to the country.

“We were quite indignant about what was happening, and we felt that our colleagues in the US were going through a catastrophe. … We wanted to offer some sort of scientific asylum to those whose research is being hindered,” Eric Berton, the president of France’s Aix-Marseille University, told the UK-based Guardian newspaper.

The European Research Council, an EU body that finances scientific work, told the Reuters news agency that it would double its relocation budget to fund researchers moving to the EU to 2 million euros ($2.16m) per applicant.

The UK government is preparing a similar initiative. Backed by about 50 million pounds ($66m) in state funding, the scheme is designed to support research grants and cover relocation expenses for select teams of scientists, mainly from the US.

In Germany, as part of coalition talks for a new government, conservatives and Social Democrats have drawn up plans to lure up to 1,000 researchers, according to negotiation documents from March seen by Reuters that allude to the upheaval in US higher learning.

“The American government is currently using brute force against the universities in the USA, so that researchers from America are now contacting Europe,” Germany’s chancellor-in-waiting, Friedrich Merz, said in April. “This is a huge opportunity for us.”

Is Europe in a position to poach US scientists?

For decades, Europe has lagged behind the US when it comes to investment in higher education.

According to Eurostat, the EU’s statistical office, total expenditures on research and development in the EU among businesses, governments and universities was 381 billion euros ($411bn) in 2023.

That same year, total research and development in the US was estimated at $940bn, according to the National Centre for Science and Engineering Statistics, a federal data agency.

And the wealthiest US university, Harvard, has an endowment worth $53.2bn while that of Britain’s (and Europe’s) wealthiest, the University of Oxford, is $10.74bn.

“I don’t foresee a rapid build-up of additional scientific capability that could match what the US now has … for several decades,” Michael Oppenheimer, a professor of geosciences and international affairs at Princeton University in New Jersey, recently told Reuters.

Some US scientists have pointed to what they see as another drawback – European language barriers and unfamiliar laws and employment practices. In addition, research funding and researchers’ remuneration both lag far behind US levels.

The Choose Europe for Science event is expected to counter those concerns by arguing that university pay gaps will seem less significant when the lower cost of education, healthcare and more generous social benefits are taken into account.

What has been the response so far?

Aix-Marseille University in the south of France said it has received interest from 120 researchers at institutions across the US, including NASA and Stanford University in California, in the 15-million-euro ($17m) “safe space for science” programme it launched on March 7.

The initiative aims to attract US researchers from fields including health, medicine, epidemiology and climate change.

In a letter to French universities in March, Philippe Baptiste, France’s minister for higher education and research, wrote: “Many well-known researchers are already questioning their future in the United States. We would naturally wish to welcome a certain number of them.”

Elsewhere, the Grantham Institute at Imperial College London, which specialises in climate change research, has created two fellowships for early career climate researchers from the US and has already seen an uptick in applications.

An official from Macron’s office said Monday’s conference is being held “at a time when academic freedoms are retreating and under threat in a number of cases and Europe is a continent of attractiveness”.