Above photo: Demonstrators hold placards during a protest following the arrest of Palestinian student protester Mahmoud Khalil at Columbia University in New York on March 10, 2025. Jeenah Moon/ Reuters.
Note: The Trump administration’s attempt to deport Mahmoud Khalil, a lawful permanent resident who hasn’t been charged with any crime, represents a frightening erosion of First Amendment protections that threatens all Americans. This extraordinary action—detaining and attempting to remove someone for protected political speech—establishes a dangerous precedent where government can bypass due process and criminalize dissent. On Monday evening, a federal judge temporarily blocked the attempted deportation. Sign and share our petition to stand with millions of Americans who believe in protecting constitutional rights. Scroll to the bottom to participate in a letter-writing campaign.
Demand the Release of Mahmoud Khalil —Ryan Grim
The arrest of Mahmoud Khalil, a Palestinian activist and recent graduate of Columbia University, may seem like an isolated case—just another student detained under the increasingly draconian surveillance of the US security state. Some may wonder why anyone should care about the fate of a single foreign graduate student at an Ivy League university. But Khalil’s story is not an anomaly; rather, it is a warning. His detention by US Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE), in what appears to be an attempt to silence pro-Palestinian activism, is part of a much broader global trend: the rise of authoritarianism in its neofascist form and the increasing weaponization of state power against dissenters.
Khalil’s case is not just about Palestine or American academia. It speaks to a disturbing pattern seen worldwide, in which governments are increasingly operating as “kidnapping states,” arbitrarily detaining political opponents, activists, and journalists under legal pretexts. From the disappearances of activists in Kenya and Uganda to Nigeria’s extrajudicial detentions, the use of state security forces to intimidate and repress is a defining feature of our era. What was once considered the modus operandi of fragile or overtly autocratic states is now becoming normalized in so-called democratic strongholds, like the United States.
In Kenya, the phenomenon of enforced disappearances has been documented for years, with police and intelligence services implicated in the extrajudicial abduction of activists, journalists, and even lawyers. Many of these cases follow a similar pattern: the individual is picked up by plainclothes officers, taken to an undisclosed location, and often never seen again.
The state’s justifications usually cite vague notions of “national security,” mirroring the rationale used by ICE in the US. In Uganda, opposition figures like Bobi Wine have faced arbitrary detentions and beatings, sending a clear signal that dissent will not be tolerated. Nigeria, too, has seen a crackdown on protest movements like #EndSARS and #EndBadGovernance, with government forces arresting organizers under false pretenses and freezing their bank accounts to dismantle resistance.
While these examples may seem geographically disparate, they share a common thread: the use of bureaucratic processes to obscure the fundamentally political nature of repression. This is the hallmark of modern authoritarianism. Unlike the brute-force dictatorships of the past, today’s repressive regimes rely on “lawful” means to silence dissenters. They employ immigration laws, anti-terror legislation, and economic sanctions as tools of suppression. Khalil’s arrest should be seen within this continuum—a demonstration that even in a country that claims to champion free speech and democracy, the mechanisms of control are shifting toward more covert, insidious forms.
As recently argued by Gilber Achcar, we are living through the age of neofascism. Unlike classic 20th-century fascism, which relied on paramilitary violence and overt dictatorship, today’s neofascist movements operate under a veneer of legality and democracy, selectively eroding civil liberties while maintaining an illusion of procedural normalcy. The Khalil case illustrates this perfectly: rather than being disappeared in the dark of night, as in a traditional police state, he was detained under immigration law, despite being a legal US resident. The bureaucratic process itself becomes the means of repression.
Neofascism distinguishes itself from traditional fascism by its reliance on democratic institutions to entrench authoritarian rule. As Achcar notes, today’s far-right movements do not need to overthrow democracy outright; they simply hollow it out from within. Figures like Trump in the US, Modi in India, and Bolsonaro in Brazil have all perfected this strategy. They use electoral victories as mandates for repression, while framing their opponents as enemies of the state. In this context, the treatment of activists like Khalil is not incidental—it is part of a broader effort to redefine the boundaries of permissible political discourse.
The United States is not the only country where this playbook is unfolding. Across Europe, the far-right is gaining ground by leveraging state apparatuses to target migrants, Muslims, and leftist activists. In France, Marine Le Pen’s party has normalized xenophobic rhetoric that was once considered beyond the pale. In Italy, Giorgia Meloni has embraced the legacy of Mussolini while cracking down on migrant rescue operations in the Mediterranean. These developments are not occurring in isolation; they are feeding off each other, reinforcing the global trend toward reactionary nationalism.
Almost three years ago, I warned that the contemporary far right lacks the mass mobilization of its historical predecessors, but this does not make it any less dangerous. It is precisely the quiet, normalized character of its encroachments that makes it so insidious. Whether it is the scapegoating of migrants in Europe, the militarization of borders in Africa, or the targeted criminalization of protest in the US, the mechanisms of control are becoming more diffuse and entrenched.
The world should care about Mahmoud Khalil because his arrest is not just about him—it is about the trajectory we are on. If the world’s most powerful state is willing to detain and deport legal residents for their political activism, then what does that signal for the rest of the world? Today it is Khalil, tomorrow it could be any dissenter, anywhere.
Consider the precedent this sets: A student, legally residing in the US, is targeted for his political views. What happens when similar tactics are used against American citizens who challenge state policy? What happens when this emboldens other governments to follow suit? Already, we are seeing universities, media institutions, and advocacy groups buckle under state pressure. The chilling effect is real, and it extends far beyond Khalil himself.
The question is not whether neofascism is coming. It is here. The only question that remains is whether we will continue sleepwalking into it, or whether we will fight back while we still can. The arrest of Mahmoud Khalil is a test—a test of how much repression we are willing to accept before we recognize that the world we thought we lived in is disappearing before our eyes.