Just months ago, I found myself closely watching an unexpected and underreported political shift in the United States—Arab Americans, many of whom had traditionally leaned Democratic, were increasingly aligning with the Republican Party. For Donald Trump, this represented a surprising opportunity: a chance to reshape the GOP’s image and broaden its appeal by bringing in a community shaped by values like faith, entrepreneurship, and security consciousness.
But now, as President Trump is in the midst of his new term, that fragile alignment appears to be under strain. The very communities that helped him win crucial swing states in 2024—especially in places like Michigan and Florida—are questioning whether they were betrayed.
At the heart of this reckoning are two parallel developments. First, the surge in anti-Palestinian sentiment and the crackdown on activists across the United States. Second, the increasingly hardline language and proposals emerging from the administration in relation to Gaza and the broader Middle East.
Take the case of Mahmoud Khalil, a Palestinian graduate student from Columbia University. Khalil, who has no criminal record, was detained by ICE in March 2025, allegedly due to his vocal pro-Palestinian activism. He is a legal U.S. resident. No terrorism-related accusations were levied. No court proceedings followed immediately. Yet the signal was clear: expressing solidarity with Palestine may now come at a cost—even in the land of free speech.
Then came the case of Mohsen Mahdawi, another Palestinian student arrested during what should have been a routine naturalization interview. His only apparent “crime”? Being politically active and advocating for Palestinian rights on campus. These are not isolated incidents. They suggest a troubling new trend, where political expression about Palestine—especially among young Arab Americans—is increasingly treated as a national security issue rather than a civil liberty.
This is where the disillusionment begins to grow. In cities like Dearborn, Michigan—home to one of the largest Arab American populations in the country—people are voicing regret. During the 2024 election, they gave Trump a second look, drawn by his promises of religious liberty, his tough stance on inflation, and his appointment of figures like Massad Boulos and Dr. Janette Nesheiwat—Arab Americans who symbolized new representation within the GOP.
But today, many in that same community feel deceived. Trump’s recent rhetoric around Gaza, including the suggestion that Palestinians be “relocated” and that the U.S. might take “administrative control” of parts of the territory, has only deepened the wounds. These are not positions that reflect a desire for peace, dignity, or partnership—they suggest a colonial mindset and an erasure of national identity.
So I ask: Can Trump afford to lose this Arab American support?
Electorally, the answer may be yes in some places—but not without consequences. Arab Americans helped flip Michigan red in 2024. If they stay home in 2028—or swing back toward a reformed Democratic platform—it could cost the GOP dearly.
More profoundly, though, this moment risks shattering something bigger: the trust that Arab Americans, especially Christian conservatives and entrepreneurs, were beginning to place in the Republican Party. For many, that trust was hard-won. It took years of alienation from Democratic foreign policy to even consider a party that once backed the Iraq War, the Muslim Ban, and the post-9/11 surveillance state. But they gave the GOP a chance, because they believed things could be different.
And for a moment, it was different. Trump’s administration embraced visible Arab American advisers, pushed economic empowerment, and leaned into religious liberty messaging that resonated with traditional communities. But now, with detentions, surveillance, and anti-Palestinian crackdowns making headlines, it all feels eerily familiar—like a throwback to the very policies they had hoped to escape.
There is also the international dimension, it risks alienating not just Arab Americans but key Middle Eastern partners as well. The UAE, Qatar, Jordan, even Saudi Arabia—each of these nations watches American politics closely. They recognize the difference between criticism and disrespect, between diplomacy and imposition.
So, here’s the broader question I’m wrestling with: Is this a temporary miscalculation by the Trump administration, or a reversion to form?
If it’s the former, there may still be time to recalibrate—time to reaffirm constitutional rights, rein in ICE, and return to a values-based foreign policy. If it’s the latter, then the GOP’s flirtation with Arab American support may end as quickly as it began, leaving behind bitterness and broken alliances.
Either way, this moment matters. Because Arab Americans are no longer a passive demographic in American politics. They are voters, donors, doctors, entrepreneurs, and increasingly, political actors. They’ve tasted influence. And if denied respect, they’ll seek it elsewhere.
In politics, trust is currency. And today, the GOP’s Arab American account is dangerously close to overdraft.
