‘A beautiful prison’: Mohsen Mahdawi seeks solace in rural Vermont as he fends off deportation – The Boston Globe

“It‘s amazing,” he said of the view, grinning.

A Columbia University student who grew up in the occupied West Bank, the 34-year-old Mahdawi was detained in April after being summoned to a federal immigration office in Vermont for what was supposed to be his final test to become a US citizen.

After 16 days in prison, Mahdawi was freed by a federal judge in Vermont who likened the Trump administration’s actions to McCarthyism. Mahdawi made a beeline for the Upper Valley, which he’s called home for more than a decade, most recently in nearby Hartford. He visited his cabin and said a prayer.

Mahdawi’s freedom may be fleeting. The Trump administration, which has called him a threat to national security, continues to seek his detention and, more than likely, deportation. The judge has limited his movements to Vermont and New York.

“What it reminds me of is Palestine, where I was supposed to be in one area and, if I crossed to the other, I don’t have rights,” he said. “But I am grateful that I have this nature. I mean, it‘s a larger prison, but it‘s a beautiful prison to be in.”

Mahdawi carries himself with confidence and engages others with an intense and absorbing gaze. His expression conveys high spirits, in spite of the turmoil he’s faced.

But when the prospect of deportation comes up, his ever-present smile fades away. “It would be similar to a death sentence,” he said.

Family members in the West Bank have been targeted by Israelis since Mahdawi became a leader of Columbia’s pro-Palestinian movement, he said. Were he to return, he believes, Israeli soldiers or settlers would seek revenge.

Mahdawi, though, says there’s something he fears even more than death: not being able to continue the peacemaking efforts he’s been building in the United States. He sees himself as “a baby diplomat” who is uniquely poised to bring together Palestinians, Israelis, and Americans to resolve the ancient conflict in the Middle East. He’s even written a 68-page peace plan.

“I am going to school in order to make peace — peace and justice,” said Mahdawi, who is slated to begin graduate studies at Columbia’s School of International and Public Affairs in September. “And if they deport me, they are killing this possibility, this opportunity that I am seeing.”

Mahdawi bought the West Fairlee property for $51,000 off Facebook Marketplace in October 2020 as a pandemic project of sorts. Clearing trees, digging ponds, and building the cabin also served as a form of therapy, he said, to work through the trauma of a youth spent in violence and hardship within the Far’a refugee camp.

“I said in my head, ‘If I die tomorrow, what is the one thing I would want to have in my life?’ And it was something that none of my parents had … [for] three generations, which is a piece of land,” he said.

Mahdawi named his sanctuary Jannah Ndakinna. Jannah means “paradise” in his native Arabic, he said, and Ndakinna means “homeland” in the Indigenous Abenaki language. “So it‘s a paradise, in my eyes, but it‘s a homeland — the homeland for all the Abenaki people who used to be here before,” he said. “I am just a caretaker.”

The cabin is not fancy. It is just 8-by-16 feet, not much bigger than his recently vacated jail cell, he joked. It gives off the vibe of a tiny home crossed with a man-cave. But the view of the verdant countryside from its deck is majestic.

“Isn’t it magical?” he said. “The cabin has helped me, really, to realize that, in order to find joy, you don’t need much.”

That joy has been sharply tempered by President Trump‘s campaign to root out protesters of Israel’s deadly war in Gaza. Betar US, a radical Zionist group, began calling for Mahdawi’s deportation in late January. On March 8, Mahmoud Khalil, who had led pro-Palestinian protests with Mahdawi at Columbia, was seized by federal officials outside his New York City apartment.

Mahdawi laid low for 23 days, he said, with only three people knowing where he was. He paced constantly, and, as a practicing Buddhist, meditated. When immigration officials notified him his long-awaited citizenship interview would take place April 14 in Vermont, he suspected a trap.

After consulting with friends and attorneys and making a list of pros and cons, he decided to show up for the interview.

“I’d rather be detained in Vermont,” he reasoned. “That‘s the main pro. If I get detained in Vermont, I have a better chance.”

As soon as he completed the test, the person administering it opened a door, Mahdawi said, “and the officers stormed in — you know, masks covering their faces, hats. … They said, ‘You’re under arrest.’”

When the officers led him away in handcuffs, Mahdawi said, he carefully considered how the moment might be captured by friends who had prepared for this possibility. He raised his hands in two peace signs, a gesture that soon went viral.

Mahdawi had two goals, he said: to reassure worried loved ones he’d be OK and to avoid projecting fear.

“I wanted to tell people that if you are fighting for something that you believe in, you should not surrender to intimidation or fear: I am not afraid,” he said. “This is the message I wanted to send: no intimidation.”

The officers told Mahdawi they planned to ship him to Louisiana, where other deportation targets have faced a more conservative court system. But the entourage missed its flight by minutes, he said, giving his lawyers time to get a court order keeping him in Vermont.

“I looked at [the officers] and I said, ‘Congratulations! You’re gonna be enjoying the Burlington-Lake Champlain area now, instead of traveling on an airplane,’” he recalled.

Mahdawi, however, ended up in a state prison in rural Vermont, which he said was dehumanizing and humiliating all the same.

“You lose your basic rights,” he said.

A few days into his stay, he was joined by a group of migrant farmworkers who had been detained in a high-profile raid of a nearby dairy farm. One became his cellmate.

“He doesn’t speak English, but he says to me, ‘Good.’ And they call him ‘amigo,’” said Mahdawi, who doesn’t speak Spanish. “So, ‘amigo’ and ‘good.’ That‘s what we shared.”

As a key court hearing approached, Mahdawi tried to temper his eternal optimism — what he called his “strongest muscle.” But the night before he had a dream of his favorite Palestinian dish, mansaf, which he said was a signal he would soon be released. He packed his meager prison belongings and headed to court.

After the judge ordered his release, Mahdawi again sought to use his public platform to speak out against what he described as the administration’s campaign of intimidation. In impromptu remarks outside the Burlington courthouse, he declared, “I am saying it clear and loud to President Trump and his Cabinet: I am not afraid of you.”

His release, however brief it may prove, “is a major, major signal that the justice system is working,” Mahdawi said.

On Thursday, Mahdawi joined several prominent elected officials at Vermont‘s statehouse to announce the creation of a fund to aid in the legal defense of immigrants facing deportation.

After hiking down from the ridgeline, Mahdawi paused at two ponds he had excavated and named “Harmony” and “Melody.” Picking up several stones, he tried, with mixed success, to skip them across the water.

“America is the first place I learned how to do that. We didn’t have bodies of water,” he said of the refugee camp in which he was raised. “Most Palestinians won’t experience this, this or the sea.”

He tossed another rock across the pond.

“This is what we’re doing here: You throw a stone, it hits a spot, but the ripple gets through the whole water,” he said. “My release … it‘s a rippling going around. A lot of people are feeling more hope nowadays.”