Palestinian Woman Compares ICE Detention to Life Under Israeli Occupation
In her first print interview since being released, Palestinian immigrant Leqaa Kordia has described her year in a Texas immigration detention center as a "human tragedy" that echoes the treatment of Palestinians living under Israeli occupation. Kordia, who was detained by Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) following her arrest at a pro-Palestinian protest, told the Guardian she now sees it as her duty to denounce the conditions in US immigration detention facilities.
From Protest to Detention
Kordia was arrested in April 2024 during a protest outside Columbia University against Israel's war in Gaza. "When I took to the streets, I was defending my rights, and my family's rights, and calling for freedom for myself and freedom for my family," she said. Although charges against her were dropped the following day, ICE detained her. More than 200 members of her extended family were killed by Israeli strikes in Gaza, and Kordia emphasized she didn't consider herself an activist but rather "just a Palestinian girl, protesting her family being killed."
Her detention came around the same time as that of two Palestinian Columbia University students, Mahmoud Khalil and Mohsen Mahdawi, whose detention a federal judge in Boston later ruled was unconstitutional and designed to chill speech.
Echoes of Childhood Trauma
Kordia's time in ICE custody brought back vivid memories of her childhood in the West Bank during the second intifada. She recalled waking up at age nine to Israeli soldiers pointing guns at her in her bedroom. "As soon as I opened my eyes I saw that soldier laughing – literally laughing – and pointing his rifle in my face," she said. Palestinians in occupied territories faced curfews, checkpoints, raids, and daily humiliations, including watching soldiers knock her brother unconscious.
She found similar treatment at the Prairieland detention center in Alvarado, Texas, where guards would ignore detainees' requests for help, tell them to "shut up," and frequently laugh at them. "The word 'detention center' sounds nice," Kordia added. "It's not nice. It's a jail."
Conditions in Detention
Describing the indignities of detention would take "days," Kordia said, listing numerous issues. She spent weeks sleeping on a "paper-thin" mattress on the floor due to overcrowding, faced complete disregard for her religious rights, and experienced medical neglect that led to her hospitalization on February 6 for a seizure.
The detention center was always cold, with guards claiming it was to protect against "germs." Women asking for water during intake processing were directed to a water fountain attached to a toilet seat. When showers broke down, guards responded with "It is what it is." Drinking water sometimes had "things swimming in it," and food served at 4am, 10am, and 4pm was often inedible, referred to as "dog food" by detainees. Those refusing it risked being put on "suicide watch" in isolation.
"People can literally grow crazy in those places," Kordia said, describing women breaking down and experiencing panic attacks under the eyes of indifferent guards. Pregnant, sick, and elderly women received equally dismissive treatment. She described the frequent shuffling of detainees between centers, often causing them to miss court hearings, as "human trafficking."
Building Bonds in Adversity
Despite the harrowing conditions, women in detention built deep bonds across life experiences and language barriers. They exchanged relatives' numbers to notify families if someone was transferred or deported. When Kordia was hospitalized, her family only learned of it from a fellow detainee after three days of trying to get information from ICE.
Solidarity gestures were common: when Kordia was sick, other women cooked with the center's microwave and brought food to her; birthdays were celebrated with commissary items; and when she collapsed with a seizure, a fellow detainee insisted guards take her hijab to the hospital. "I was sent far away from my community in New Jersey, all the way to Texas, for them to isolate me," she said. "Instead, I found a tight-knit community. When somebody cries, everybody cries, when somebody laughs, everybody laughs."
Advocacy and Awareness
Kordia used her detention as an "opportunity" to educate fellow detainees and guards about the plight of Palestinians. She shared a copy of a book by Palestinian poet Refaat Alareer, killed early in the war in an Israeli strike, which English-speaking detainees passed around eagerly. "We all came from countries where we know what war is. We know what struggle is, we know what poverty is, so it wasn't hard for them to relate," she said.
The daily "humiliation" and "stripping people of their dignity" she experienced in Palestine resonated with those in immigration detention. "They don't call you by name, they call you 'subject', or by number," she said of both ICE guards and Israeli soldiers.
Life After Release
Kordia was released on March 16 after an immigration judge for the third time ruled she posed no threat and ordered her release on bond, following pressure from legislators and human rights groups. She spoke with the Guardian at a Palestinian cafe in Paterson, New Jersey, home to one of the largest Palestinian-American communities in the US, two weeks after returning home.
Having lived in the US for nearly a decade after leaving the West Bank to reunite with her US-citizen mother, Kordia has a pending green card application and no criminal record. Before detention, she worked as a server at a Palestinian restaurant in Paterson, dreaming of opening her own cafe. Now, with temporary protection granted by an immigration court but the administration still seeking her deportation, her future is uncertain.
"Now, I'll advocate on behalf of the ladies I left behind," she said, referring to women at Prairieland. "I was advocating on behalf of my family in Palestine, and now I'm advocating on behalf of my family here in America ... Now I have a bigger family."
While she still doesn't see herself as an activist, Kordia believes she has "no choice" but to speak about her experience. "The least I can do is talk about what those I left behind are facing every day," she said, emphasizing that despite her previous belief in American "freedom," her detention revealed harsh realities. "Everybody can say whatever they want and do whatever they want – I really used to believe that," she recalled, but now sees a need for greater public understanding of immigration detention conditions.
