The Midnight Music of Hope: A Scientist Detained, a Friend’s Desperate Plea
Every night, as the clock strikes twelve in Boston, Will Trim settles at his piano. His fingers hover over the keys, waiting. He’s not preparing for a concert or seeking artistic inspiration. He’s waiting for lights out at a Louisiana ICE detention center, a place that holds his best friend, Kseniia Petrova.
The anticipation hangs heavy in the air, a stark contrast to the melodies he is about to play. His cellphone rings, breaking the silence. On the other end of the line, Kseniia is silent. She’s huddled in a freezing ward, surrounded by 101 other women. She cradles one of the few working phones to her ear. She doesn’t speak. She listens.
Trim begins to play. He chooses Bach or Chopin, hoping the familiar compositions will soothe her frayed nerves, offering a momentary escape from the harsh reality of her confinement. He plays with a purpose, channeling his worry and his love into each note. He pours out his hope for her freedom into the music, hoping that these sound waves could reach the walls of the detention center.
The jail line clicks off abruptly after fifteen minutes. Kseniia retreats to her bunk, where she has spent the last three months. She is a 30-year-old Harvard scientist, a shy and brilliant mind with no prior immigration issues or criminal record.
“I know he is very worried about me,” Kseniia Petrova told USA TODAY, using one of the precious few phones available.
Trim, a biologist, works alongside Kseniia at a Harvard Medical School lab, where they are not only colleagues, but also roommates. The weight of her situation crushes him.
“Maybe I should be tougher,” he says, but his resolve crumbles. The melodies he once loved to play now lack their vibrancy. “But even after three months, the music doesn’t sing anymore unless she calls and wants to hear it.”
This story is not just about Kseniia and Will. It’s a story about the sweeping impact of President Donald Trump’s deportation policies. These policies ensnare people from all walks of life. International students, green card holders, individuals with legal work permits, tourists, and even top-tier scholars like Kseniia, are finding themselves caught in the system.
Kseniia’s story is a stark example of the reach and potential injustices of the current immigration enforcement. A court hearing on May 14 could decide her fate, further adding urgency to Trim’s actions.
Will and Kseniia met in the halls of Harvard Medical School. They became colleagues, working together on cutting-edge research into aging and longevity.
In photos, Will is blond and slender. Kseniia has shoulder-length black hair and a round face.
Will was a British post-doctoral student. Kseniia arrived after fleeing Russia. She had been working for the Genome Russia project, mapping the genetic variation of humankind. She was forced to leave after protesting Russia’s war on Ukraine.
"She didn’t compromise," Trim says, his voice filled with admiration. "She stood up for what she believed in."
In mid-February, Kseniia was returning to Boston from Paris. She was stopped by U.S. Customs and Border Protection at baggage claim. She had been visiting friends and attending a concert by a Hungarian pianist. She also picked up a package of non-hazardous biological samples from a sister laboratory to bring back to Harvard at the request of her boss. The last time they tried to ship the samples, they deteriorated.
Customs officers alleged that Kseniia had not properly declared the samples. They included "loose vials of frog cells… without proper permits," according to the Department of Homeland Security. The department accused her of knowingly breaking the law and deliberately evading it. The statement also criticized the media coverage of "noteworthy individuals," including Kseniia.
Her attorney argues that the customs officers could have simply withheld the samples and issued a fine. Instead, they cancelled her J-1 scholar visa and detained her. She was handed over to ICE. She was sent to a processing center in Vermont and then transferred to the Richwood Correctional Center in Monroe, Louisiana.
Kseniia and Will are navigating the complexities of the U.S. immigration system.
They are learning how foreigners can be held without charge. How immigration detention isn’t supposed to be punitive, even though detention centers often resemble prisons. How expensive phone calls are. How distant ICE detention centers often are from major cities.
Trim has made the journey from Boston to Monroe three times. He has another visit planned.
Each time, guards lead him through a double-barbed wire fence into a prison wing. There, he is reunited with Kseniia in a sterile room. They are allowed a brief embrace at the beginning and end of their two-hour visit. They sit at opposite ends of a long table.
The first time he saw her, he asked, "Are you okay?" A guard sat directly behind her, Trim recalls. "I don’t know if he was taking notes." She was wearing a green prison jumpsuit. "It was kind of sad, especially for someone who has done nothing wrong." She was cautious about what she said.
"I miss everything," Kseniia told USA TODAY. "To work, to read articles, to discuss with my colleagues, to make experiments, to do science."
Trim sends her books directly from Amazon, following the detention center rules. Kseniia is currently reading Nick Lane’s "Transformer," a book on biochemistry that explores the origins of life and death.
Each time Trim sees her, she appears less healthy. "My masters degree is in nutritional biochemistry," he explains. "I noticed very specific things in her eyes, hair and skin and fingernails."
He sends her money for commissary. "She buys multivitamins but it’s not doing enough."
They both yearn for the simple freedoms they once took for granted. Chatting about the day’s research on their six-minute walk from their apartment near Fenway Park to the Harvard lab. Trying new recipes for dinner. Sitting on the floor listening to classical music.
"I’m not sure why we sat on the floor," Trim says, laughing. Kseniia would invariably ask if he’d like some "Russian" tea, maybe while he played the piano. He’d jokingly remind her the tea package was labeled "London." He’d sit down to the piano.
"I like listening to his playing very much," Kseniia says. "I would even prefer to listening to some professional. The music isn’t about technique; it’s about feelings."
"She was always shy about asking me to play," he says. "Im not very good but she genuinely liked hearing it. It’s all those little things. We would cook, have tea, play music and talk. And then in the morning we’d start again."
On weekends, she made cappuccinos. "She has a way to use a French press to froth milk," Trim says.
"Its stupid, but I watched a video on YouTube," she says, giggling. "Dont tell him."
Most nights now, Trim can’t bear to be in the apartment alone. He wanders the streets of Boston until late, until the clock nears midnight by him, 11 p.m. and lights out by her.
He plays the piano. She listens.
A woman’s automated voice interrupts the phone call: "You have one minute remaining on this call."
He plays a few measures more. The line clicks off.
