On July 17, 2025, dozens of protesters marched onto the John A. Roebling Bridge connecting Cincinnati to Covington to demand the release of Ayman Soliman — a man who, by every measure of decency, should have been free. Instead, they were met with batons, fists, and felony charges.
They shut down the bridge with banners, chants, and righteous fury. The police responded by body-slamming protestors into the pavement. One officer punched a man in the face while others pinned him to the concrete. At least thirteen people were arrested, including two journalists. The bridge — once a symbol of connection — became a checkpoint in a country increasingly defined by cages, zip ties, and the smell of pepper spray.
This wasn’t a violent mob. It was a peaceful stand for a man whose only crime was being too visible, too principled, and too Arab for the comfort of the machine.
Ayman Soliman is a former hospital chaplain. He ministered to dying children. He held the hands of grieving parents. He prayed over hospital beds. He fled Egypt after being tortured for reporting on the Arab Spring. He was granted asylum in 2018. He did everything right — until he walked into an ICE check-in on July 9 and didn’t walk out.
They claim he’s tied to a charitable organization in Egypt that may have some historic link to the Muslim Brotherhood — a group that, for the record, is not even on America’s terrorist list. The government knew about this affiliation when they gave him asylum. They only cared once he filed a lawsuit against the FBI for flagging him without explanation. That’s when the hammer came down. Quietly, surgically, like all the best state violence.
Now he’s in Butler County Jail. No bond. No due process. No clear path forward. He’s just… gone. Disappeared into the bureaucratic maw. The same way authoritarian regimes vanish journalists and pastors and poets. Not with spectacle — with paperwork.
The hearing is set for August 12 in Cleveland. That’s when a judge will decide if this entire nightmare will continue behind closed doors or crawl into the light. Soliman’s legal team is trying to claw back the asylum he never should have lost. The government is pretending they had no choice. And in the meantime, a man who once prayed with terminal patients is eating trays off a plastic cot under fluorescent lights, hoping the next ICE agent isn’t the one who finalizes his fate.
This country is always building walls and pretending they’re bridges. The Roebling protest pulled that curtain back. It showed the steel beneath the slogans. The fury beneath the flag. It showed that if you speak up — or worse, organize — you will be met with the full weight of the state’s knuckles.
This isn’t just about Ayman Soliman. It’s about what happens when a country forgets its laws and remembers only its fears. It’s about what it means when ICE can arrest someone without warning, throw them in a cell, and call it “routine.” It’s about how quickly legal becomes optional.
There are moments that define what a democracy tolerates. August 12 is one of them.
If we let this man be deported — if we let this government continue erasing people without consequence — then the bridge has already collapsed. We just haven’t heard the splash yet.
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This post has been syndicated from Closer to the Edge, where it was published under this address.