I’m Badar Khan Suri’s wife. ICE took him from us on bogus charge

I am a Palestinian. My national identity is a synonym for suffering. Not a day passes without Palestinians being inflicted with physical, mental and emotional pain. I have lost many loved ones in the ongoing genocide in Gaza, including my dearest friend Salma, who was killed along with 20 members of her family in October 2023.

I have been going through a lot and the pain of losing my people and land has been overwhelming. I settled into a state of deep depression and continue to have nightmares. I fear reading any news coming out of Gaza and the West Bank.

My husband, Badar Khan Suri, came to my rescue amidst all of this. He put his academics ambitions on the back-burner to be fully on my side, giving his time, energy, and love.

With his patience and compassion, he did everything he could to pull me out of depression, anxiety and a state of fear.

Bader, who is of Indian origin, came to the United States as a postdoctoral researcher. He is a scholar of peace building and conflict resolution. After he arrived at Georgetown University he was impressed by the political freedom and intellectual openness, so he made plans to pursue research and make a significant contribution in peace studies. This was whilst I initially remained abroad to complete my studies.

Even when he was thousands of miles away, he stood by me. When pain and grief overtook me entirely, Badar insisted that I join him in the US so he could provide me and our three children with the support we needed.

I thought of returning to Gaza many times, in order to be with my family. The war in 2023 ended this option, however. I couldn’t risk the safety of my children. So we focused on building a life in the US, where Badar had found an intellectual home at Georgetown University and I enrolled in the Master’s program in Arab Studies. The children also started school and quickly made new friends.

For the first time in years, we felt a sense of stability.

Of course, the peace was soon shattered.

As the Israeli bombardment intensified, my family was forced to live in tents, enduring the scorching heat of summer and the freezing cold of winter. I lived in constant terror, knowing that every call could bring the news of another death. When I asked my mother how she was holding up, she responded, ‘”I’m alive for now. But if I die, don’t cry. Death is mercy compared to this life.”

The January ceasefire gave some relief. I thought that maybe the peace would last. However, on March 17, Israel violated the ceasefire and escalated its attack on Gaza beyond anything I could have imagined.

The following day over 400 people, half of them children, were killed.

In a state of panic, I called my family, desperately hoping to hear their voices. But there was no answer. My heart raced, ached, throbbed and I couldn’t breathe, fearing the worst. Finally, when I heard my mother’s voice, it was agonising. She was unable to catch her breath. She said, “They’re killing us. Bombs are everywhere. Pray for us. I love…”. The line went dead before she could finish. The silence that followed was unbearable.

Yet still, the worst was yet to come.

Unable to figure out what was going on in Gaza, my phone rang. It was Badar, but his voice was different, trembling and full of fear. ‘Maphaz, come fast', he said, ‘They’re arresting me.’ I could not understand. ‘Arresting? Who?’ I asked, barely able to process the words. ‘Me. Come. Now,’ he said.

I rushed to the door, barely aware of my surroundings, my heart pounding in my chest. Outside, I saw three masked men circling my husband in front of our building, rifling through his bag. He was pleading with them, ‘I just came from the university after giving my class. What did I do?’ They said nothing. For the first time, I saw fear in his eyes. The masked men handcuffed Badar and forced him into a vehicle.

I screamed, ‘Why are you taking him? Who are you?’ Their reply was cold: ‘Homeland Security. The Government has revoked his visa.’

My body shook. My knees gave out and I could not stand.

As he was being taken away, Badar asked me to bring his immigration documents. I ran upstairs. My nine-year-old son saw me holding his father’s bag. ‘Where’s Baba? Why do you have his things?’ he asked. I forced a smile and said, ‘He had to travel. He’ll be back soon.’

At home, my eldest child saw me crying and immediately sensed something was wrong. ‘You’re hiding something. Is my father okay?’ he asked, his voice filled with worry. I forced a calm tone and replied, ‘Yes, Habibi. He’s fine. I’m crying because the war has started again in Gaza.’

'Again!’ he asked, with disbelief in his eyes.

Our eldest, who is nine-years-old is incredibly close to his father. Every night, they would fall asleep in each other’s arms and he would say to Badar, ‘You’re my teddybear.’ But that night, with his father gone, my son hugged his real teddybear, tightly.

But the nightmare was not over. The next day, I heard the news claiming that Badar had alleged ‘ties with Hamas.’ The claim was so absurd that under different circumstances I would have laughed — Badar and Hamas?

I have been with him for eleven years, I know him, and these accusations are unfounded.

Badar has always been dedicated to books, studying ways to make peace. Whether at home or in his office, all he did was study, read, and write. He is also both a brilliant student, and a gifted teacher. Not to mention, he is a loving husband and an incredible father.

He doesn’t belong in prison.

I still remember the joy on his face when he was accepted to Georgetown University. It was a dream come true. Happiness was beaming from his face and he could not control it as tears were rolling down his eyes. In his worst nightmares he would not have imagined that things would get this bad.

It is a bitter irony that Badar is in jail in the land he admired for its freedom and justice.

Our children feel his absence every single day. They kept asking about their father, and I kept delaying the truth, hoping to shield them a little longer—until my son overheard me speaking with our lawyer. After I hung up, he quietly walked over, hugged me tightly, and whispered, ‘Inshallah he’ll come back soon. Don’t cry, Mama.’

I couldn’t find the words to respond; I just hugged him.

Our younger children send him voice notes every night: “Baba, are you lost? Baba, we miss you. Baba, we want to hug you.” Bader’s absence weighed heavily on the kids, especially our eldest, who cried a lot.

On Eid, the ache deepened.

Last year, we prayed as a family at Georgetown University’s mosque. We had new clothes, and took pictures under the cherry blossoms. This year, there was no celebration, no new clothes, no prayers at the mosque, just silence, longing and uncertainty.

Ahmed Manasra was only 13 when he was falsely imprisoned by Israel. He spent 10 years — most of it in solitary confinement — becoming a symbol of how Palestinian children are abused under occupation.

Diagnosed with schizophrenia, psychosis, and depression, Ahmed’s story is not… pic.twitter.com/xiLuncmhjS

— The New Arab (@The_NewArab) April 25, 2025

Badar called from detention and asked, “Is it still Ramadan, or is it Eid today? I’m fasting.” I told him it was Eid, and he said, “I wish I were with you. I’m alone. No one knows me here.”

Life is incredibly hard without him. I haven’t been able attend my classes because I am overwhelmed, and I'm caring for our children alone.

It’s been over a month since Badar was taken away from me and his children and put in detention. We just want him to come home.

I write this with a heavy heart: Badar is not a terrorist sympathiser, but a researcher of conflict resolution.

We have no ties to Hamas.

I am a wife and mother.

I am a Palestinian daughter who feels pain for the people of Gaza.

I am also an American who believes in the freedom of speech this country promised me.

We came to the US to live, to learn, research and practice our profession, not to be tortured and put in detention.

We believe in peace and justice, and have literally dedicated our life to working towards it.

Free Badar Khan Suri now!

And as always, free Palestine!

Maphaz Ahmad Yousef is a first-year graduate student at the Arab Studies program at Georgetown University. Originally from Gaza, she holds a BA in journalism and an MA in conflict analysis and peacebuilding. Her work focuses on regional security, conflict resolution, and cross-cultural communication.

Follow her on Instagram: @maphaz_yousef

Have questions or comments? Email us at: editorial-english@newarab.com

Opinions expressed in this article remain those of the author and do not necessarily represent those of The New Arab, its editorial board or staff.