On a quiet Spokane morning in June 2025, Bajun Mavalwalla II—a decorated Afghanistan war veteran and former Army sergeant—joined a group of demonstrators outside a federal facility. Their aim: to protest the Trump administration’s intensifying immigration crackdown and to intervene in what they believed was the unjust detention and transport of two Venezuelan asylum seekers, reportedly in the United States legally. The protest, which involved physically blocking a driveway and locking arms in front of an Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) vehicle, would soon catapult Mavalwalla into the center of a national debate over free speech, veterans’ rights, and the reach of federal law enforcement.
According to The Guardian, Mavalwalla responded to a social media call from Ben Stuckart, the former Spokane city council president, who urged others to join him in blocking the ICE transport. Although several people were arrested at the scene—some accused of smashing a government van’s windshield and slashing its tires—Mavalwalla was not among them. In fact, it wasn’t until July 15, a full month later, that FBI agents arrived at his home as he and his Afghanistan war veteran girlfriend were moving into a new house. Cellphone footage, captured by Mavalwalla’s father, shows him in handcuffs, visibly surprised. “This is not how I planned to spend my moving day,” Mavalwalla says in the video, adding, “I’m a military veteran. I’m an American citizen.” (Common Dreams)
The charges against Mavalwalla—“conspiracy to impede or injure officers”—carry a potential six-year prison sentence, a $250,000 fine, and three years of supervised release. Notably, he was not charged with assault or obstruction, and he has pleaded not guilty. The indictment alleges that Mavalwalla and his co-defendants “physically blocked the driveway of the federal facility and/or physically pushed against officers despite orders to disperse and efforts to remove them from the property.” Video evidence shows Mavalwalla locking arms with other demonstrators, but there is no indication of violence or property damage on his part.
For those who served alongside Mavalwalla, the arrest was a gut punch. Kenneth Koop, a retired colonel who trained Afghan military and police during Mavalwalla’s deployment, told The Guardian, “Here’s a guy who held a top-secret clearance and was privy to some of the most sensitive information we have, who served in a combat zone. To see him treated like this really sticks in my craw.” Koop and others in the veteran community see the prosecution as not just an affront to a fellow soldier, but as a troubling escalation in the government’s response to protest.
Legal analysts echo those concerns. Luis Miranda, former chief spokesman for the Department of Homeland Security under President Joe Biden, described Mavalwalla’s case as a “test case to see how far they can go.” He and others argue that the Trump administration’s use of conspiracy charges—rather than the more common assault or obstruction—signals a broadening strategy to suppress dissent. As Robert Chang, a law professor at the University of California, Irvine, explained to The Guardian, “It seems like what we have here is an issue of selective prosecution… that will lead to a chilling effect on free speech under the First Amendment.”
The timing and manner of the arrest fueled further outrage. Shawn VanDiver, an Afghan War veteran and founder of #AfghanEvac, noted on X (formerly Twitter) that “the FBI didn’t arrest Bajun Mavalwalla II at the protest. They waited. Then showed up at his home—on moving day. No violence. No property damage. Just a veteran using his voice. And they shackled him in front of his family.” VanDiver added, “Now the government is trying to silence him and scare us. We’re watching.”
Behind the scenes, the legal process took a dramatic turn. Richard Barker, the former acting U.S. attorney for eastern Washington state, resigned just days before the indictment was handed down. On LinkedIn, Barker wrote, “I am grateful that I never had to sign an indictment or file a brief that I didn’t believe in.” His replacement, Trump-appointed acting U.S. attorney Pete Serrano, has no prior prosecutorial experience and has described January 6 Capitol rioters as “political prisoners.” Serrano’s appointment drew criticism from Sen. Patty Murray (D-Wash.), who has vowed to block his confirmation, citing his “extreme right-wing views.” (Common Dreams, The Guardian)
For Mavalwalla’s family, the ordeal is both personal and historic. His father, Bajun Mavalwalla Sr., a retired Army intelligence officer with three Bronze Stars, called the prosecution an “unbelievable overreach.” He told The Press Democrat, “Sending out all those agents, under the pretext that my son is somehow a threat… The craziest thing is they’re charging him with conspiracy. He was at the protest, but he’d never met any of these other people. You want to know the first time he met Stuckart? It was in the jail cell.”
The Mavalwalla family’s commitment to nonviolent activism has deep roots. Mavalwalla II’s great-great grand-uncle, Parsee Rustomjee, worked with Mahatma Gandhi in South Africa, and Gandhi was godfather to Mavalwalla’s great-grandmother. After Gandhi’s assassination, his burial shroud was distributed to close confidants, including the Mavalwalla family. “Channel your inner Gandhi,” Mavalwalla’s mother texted him after the protest. “I know, mom,” he replied. “Always non-violence.” (The Guardian)
Veterans and advocates point to Mavalwalla’s post-military service as evidence of his character. After the U.S. withdrawal from Afghanistan, Mavalwalla helped evacuate Afghan allies, using his diplomatic contacts to secure safe passage for dozens of civilians. Erin Piper, who worked with Mavalwalla to rescue family members left behind, described him as patient and compassionate, always reminding her to “take care of yourself and your family. You cannot save the world. It’s good to try though.”
Legal experts warn that the use of conspiracy charges in protest cases is a powerful tool for prosecutors. Bruce Antkowiak, a former federal prosecutor, told The Guardian, “Federal conspiracy charges are a wondrous thing. It is a vast net which you can use to catch a bunch of people.” Unlike assault or obstruction, conspiracy requires only proof of intent and agreement, not direct action or violence. Jennifer Chacón, a Stanford law professor, suggested that the case may signal increased monitoring of social media to pursue similar prosecutions, sending a message to would-be protesters that they too could face federal charges.
Spokane Mayor Lisa Brown, a Democrat, condemned the arrest as a “politically motivated action” and a “perversion of our justice system.” She accused the Trump administration of weaponizing ICE and the Department of Justice to “create widespread fear across our community.”
As Mavalwalla awaits trial—released on his own recognizance and permitted to travel for a family vacation—the case continues to reverberate through legal, military, and immigrant communities. At its heart, the story raises urgent questions about the boundaries of protest, the rights of veterans, and the direction of American democracy. For now, all eyes remain on Spokane, where one man’s act of civil disobedience has become a litmus test for constitutional rights in a polarized era.
