Rumeysa Ozturk’s Abduction Threatens More Than Free Speech

Almost no one who knew her can find a bad word to say about Rumeysa Ozturk, the doctoral candidate who was abducted by masked ICE agents on March 25. Tufts University President Sunil Kumar has come to her defense, as well as religious leaders such as Rabbi Dan Slipakoff, and numerous alumni. Her closest defender is her colleague and advisor Reyyan Bilge, who regards Ms. Ozturk’s abduction as “a betrayal of American values.” So do I—and for me, it’s personal. Not because I’m Turkish or an academic, but because I’m an American writer whose main subject is the anti-Nazi resistance in the Netherlands. And I live in Vermont, which shouldn’t have had anything to do with it.

The video of Ms. Ozturk’s abduction is the worst nightmare we might have about what could happen to someone we love, or to us. She is walking along the street in broad daylight, on her way to break the Ramadan fast at an interfaith center. It all happens so fast—first a few masked officers; she screams; then she is surrounded by both women and men who slip out of unmarked cars. They forcibly take her phone, and handcuff her behind her back to ensure that this dangerous scholar of child study and human development cannot harm them. A Fulbright scholar invited to the United States because of her exceptional abilities, Rumeysa Ozturk’s high, terrified voice tells us that she wasn’t watching for these thugs to come after her, on the clean streets near her university.

I’ve seen all this happen in historic photo after photo, but having it come to life in Medford, Massachusetts slips us in time from one era to another, from one place to another. It takes me back to an idyllic stay in Amsterdam in 2001, when I found a 1941 photograph showing Jewish neighbors being rounded up on my doorstep. That changed my relationship to the city forever, and launched 13 years of research and writing about how good people colluded with the Nazis by doing nothing, and how a courageous handful resisted.

The authoritarian playbook will target writers and thinkers first.

When one of the five masked officers who surrounded Rumeysa Ozturk said, “We’re police,” was that supposed to reassure her? Does any common criminal have the capacity to kidnap someone across state lines and hold her for days in prison? Would that not be a federal crime if the federal government were not committing it? What was it that made her say, “OK, OK?” Was she making the transition from fearing that she would be robbed or raped to realizing that these people, even if masked, might actually be legitimate? Are they?

Rumeysa Ozturk is being persecuted because she is a writer who exercised her right of free speech. The government which transported her from Massachusetts to New Hampshire, then to Vermont, then to Louisiana, has brought no specific evidence that she was supporting Hamas. Her only “crime” is coauthoring an op-ed urging her university to acknowledge the genocide of more than 50,000 Palestinians, and to divest from related investment. The piece does not mention Hamas. While these positions may be offensive to the Trump administration, they are examples of the free speech people come to this country to secure—and which our ancestors fought to establish. PEN USA has taken a stand along with free speech organizations, but even more individual writers and others should demand that Ms. Ozturk be released.

Within hours, thousands gathered to protest what happened right there, on their streets. In the background of the security video, someone seems to be asking, “Why are you wearing masks?” Now we know. There are so many steps where Ms. Ozturk was denied equal protection under the law: when her visa was revoked without her knowledge, when she was accosted by masked ICE agents, when she was abducted, and now that she is being held without her consent. No one has put forward evidence that Ms. Ozturk ever spoke at a rally or even attended one, although she would have been within her rights to do so. She simply wrote what she believed.

Because of a court filing, we know that her lawyer wasn’t quite fast enough to get a judicial order to prevent Ms. Ozturk from being moved out of Massachusetts until she was already gone—or so the government claims. They whisked her across multiple state lines almost immediately, no doubt with this very thing in mind. It’s less than 40 miles to the New Hampshire border, then about an hour and a half to Lebanon, where they held her temporarily. But within a few hours, she was 26 miles north of my city of Burlington, Vermont, in the ICE holding tank in St. Albans, Vermont. The next morning, they took her to the airport which is only two miles from my home, and transported her to Louisiana. The highway they took her on—to St. Albans and then back to the Burlington airport—is so close that I can walk there in 15 minutes. In summer, I can hear the cars passing on it.

Until the last few weeks, my biggest fear has been for people like Vermont’s dairy workers who don’t have the class privilege that will motivate others to take up their cause with resources and alacrity. People who don’t have a lawyer they can call. I still fear for them, but now I realize that the authoritarian playbook will target writers and thinkers first. They don’t even have to be brown to be persecuted. We see it across the country now: Russians, French, Turkish, Palestinian.

For years, I’ve been speaking about collusion and collaboration with the Nazis. Now I feel the weight of those dilemmas intimately and personally. Is it OK for me to enjoy a beautiful meal or the coming of spring? I must, if only for my own sanity. But I must also think every day of Rumeysa Ozturk and what I can do about and for her. Otherwise, I might as well be the woman who obeyed the Nazis and drew the curtains of my Amsterdam apartment as the Jews were being rounded up on her doorstep.