Judge Sends Activist to Jail Over Anti-Israel Graffiti

Update, 9/15/2025: This article has been updated throughout without new information and quotes from attorneys involved in the case.

In the same week that Israel attacked Qatar and Syria, and continued its military occupation in Gaza, a trial began in Fort Worth for a Texas activist who allegedly spray-painted “Fuck Israel” on the wall of a nondenominational church.

Raunaq Alam, 32, was charged with criminal mischief and a hate crime for the graffiti, which occurred at Euless’ Uncommon Church in March 2024. The jury rejected the hate crimes escalation that could have sent Alam to prison for up to 10 years, yet the jury found Alam guilty on the criminal mischief charge. While their verdict was to place Alam under community supervision, Judge Brian Bolton sent Alam to Tarrant County Jail for 180 days as part of the probation agreement.

In a press conference on the courthouse steps shortly after the judge’s decision, Adwoa Asanta, Alam’s defense attorney, said she and Alam’s family and supporters were “devastated” by the judge’s decision to add incarceration to the sentence.

“That’s not how the jury process is supposed to work,” Asante says. The Tarrant County DA’s office could not be reached for comment.

The trial was held at Tarrant County’s Tim Curry Criminal Justice Center, a daunting structure of sun-stained brick in downtown Fort Worth. On the first day, Alam’s defense attorney, Adwoa Asante, walked through a long eighth-floor hallway full of supporters and entered the courtroom wearing pink headphones that appeared to be blasting pump-up music. Asante was up against Lloyd Whelchel, a prosecutor typically assigned to death penalty cases.

One of the case’s emotional high points was the testimony of 26-year-old Julia Venzor, who, along with 23-year-old Afsheen Khan, was also arrested for the graffiti and hate crimes charges. Venzor ultimately made a deal with the prosecution, agreeing to plead guilty and receive five years’ probation in exchange for her testimony against Alam.

When Venzor, wearing a white hijab and escorted by an armed officer, entered the courtroom on Tuesday, there was an audible sigh among Alam’s supporters. Several people looked down and wiped tears from their eyes, and Asante briefly gripped Alam’s shoulder.

The prosecutor asked Venzor about the night in March 2024 and showed multiple videos of the vandalism, including one which which depicted the words “Fuck Israel” spray-painted on a wall beneath the church’s flagpole. The flagpole carried the Israeli flag. (Uncommon Church’s Facebook profile also includes many posts in support of the Israel Defense Forces, including multiple posts discussing material donations.)

In another video shown by the prosecution, Venzor identified herself as the figure who returned to the car during the graffiti. She told the prosecutor and the jury she was feeling nervous. When the prosecutor asked her why she was nervous, Venzor seemed to hesitate.

“Be blunt,” the prosecutor told her, seeming to grow impatient. “You’re vandalizing a church and afraid of getting caught.”

While cross-examining Venzor, Alam’s defense attorney asked, “You don’t hate the Jewish faith, do you?”

“No,” Venzor replied.

The proceedings largely focused on the hate crimes element of the charges, which were added months after Alam’s original arrest. The prosecution showed video of the incident, which depicted the words “Fuck Israel” spray-painted on a wall beneath a flagpole bearing the Israeli flag. The indictment argued that the graffiti constitutes “bias or prejudice against a group identified by national origin and/or ancestry and/or religion, namely, the state of Israel or Jewish faith.”

This conflation of Israel and Judaism was both legally questionable and deeply troubling for Alam, Asante and multiple experts.

Yasmin Nair, a writer and researcher who has studied and critiqued hate-crime legislation, told The Guardian, “The notion of a hate crime has been fitted over these very expansive definitions of antisemitism. Now, hate-crime laws can be used to fulfill a rather different agenda that’s not even entirely a domestic agenda. Even thinking of critiquing what’s happening in Gaza is considered antisemitic.”

Other attorneys and experts agreed, including Barry Trachtenberg, a defense witness and the chair of Jewish History at Wake Forest University.

“We tried to make a very strong case that opposing Israel’s genocide is not antisemitic,” Trachtenberg says.

After taking the stand, he said he wasn’t sure how his efforts were received, in part because of repeated objections from the prosecution during questions about genocide.

After taking the stand, he said he wasn’t sure how his efforts were received.

“I thought the prosecutor was very afraid of hearing about the genocide that is happening [in Gaza] and sought to deny the jury the right to hear that information,” he says.

Thursday, the jury unanimously rejected the hate crimes escalation in what Alam’s sister, Najwa Alam Armstrong, called “a rollercoaster” of a moment: The defendant’s family, all in attendance, were relieved that Alam would not be convicted of a hate crime, but they anxiously waited to hear what the sentencing would be for the criminal mischief conviction.

Friday, the final day of the trial, was another rollercoaster.

The day began with the prosecutor presenting roughly a dozen text exchanges between Alam and other parties. In these exchanges, he was talking about buying or taking party drugs like molly.

These texts were the core of Whelchel’s closing: Alam, he argued, was “a thug” who had committed terrorism. At another point, he argued that Alam had “cloaked himself in self-righteousness.”

“That’s who he is,” Whelchel told the jury. “That’s who they are,” he added, gesturing to the gallery, where friends and family – many of whom are people of color – sat all week.

Meanwhile, Asante argued that her client made an immature, emotional decision after watching seemingly endless videos of carnage in Gaza. She told the jury she’s been doing defense work long enough to know what happens to people when they “go into cages,” and she said they don’t come back the same.

Time and again, she added, the world has seen that activists are right, including those who spoke out against the Vietnam War.

After those closing statements and another painstaking deliberation by the jury, the court reconvened and concluded the punishment phase. Alam stepped into the courtroom and mouthed “I love you,” to his parents and his sister, who mouthed back, “We love you.”

The judge read aloud the jury’s decision, in which the jury opted for community supervision and a $10,000 fine, instead of the harshest possible sentence: two years in jail. Alam and his attorney embraced for a long hug, and the Alam family, sitting in the front row of the gallery, started to cry.

Then, Judge Bolton started reading the terms of the probation, which, as a judge, are within his power to set. He ordered Alam to write an apology letter to the head pastor at Uncommon Church (“explaining why what you did was wrong,” the judge said) and he sentenced Alam to 180 days in Tarrant County Jail.

“Judge,” Alam started to object.

But Bolton told her he wasn’t finished.

The judge continued reading the other terms of probation, which include random drug testing and five years of probation. But Alam, his attorney and his supporters were shellshocked by the jail sentence. So was at least one of the members of the jury who, as they filed out, turned to another juror to confirm that they hadn’t accidentally given Alam the 180-day sentence.

Alam had little time to process what had happened. Shortly after the jury filed out, he was led away by court officers so he could begin serving six months in jail.

Members of the gallery shouted out, “I love you,” and Alam raised a hand. Then the door closed in front of him.