Latino Sense of Belonging Decreases amid Racial Profiling, Detention, and a Fading American Dream

By Anjini K. Patel

Source: Encuesta de Ipsos para Axios/Noticias Telemundo

A recent Telemundo survey reveals increasing pessimism from Latinos in the United States regarding their sense of belonging. Telemundo, in collaboration with Axios and Ipsos, surveyed a nationally representative sample of over 1,100 U.S. Latino adults from October 21 to 27, 2025. Conducted in both English and Spanish, the survey asked a variety of questions about their views on the American Dream, their sense of belonging in the US, and their optimism about the future of the country. Only 44% of respondents described the American Dream as achievable in 2025, a decrease from 61% in 2023. Similarly, 40% of 2025 respondents affirmed that the US makes them feel like they belong, and only 36% felt optimistic about the future of the US. This ​compares​ to 57% and 52%, respectively, in 2022. This survey provides an insight into the feelings of Latinos as they navigate the uncertainty of the current American political landscape.  

The survey also asked respondents about their anxieties related to being Latino/Hispanic in the United States. Compared with 39% in June 2022, 53% of respondents in 2025 reported feeling worried about themselves or a loved one being attacked because of their ethnicity. Two out of three (2/3) Latinos who identify as Republicans say it is a good time to be a Latino in the United States, while only one in ten (1/10) Latino Democrats agree. Seventy-one percent (71%) of those aged between 18 and 29 and 57% of those who are 50 and older, said it is a bad time to be Latino. 

Most respondents indicate that the Democratic Party, as compared to the Republican Party, better represents Latinos, cares more about them, and is better on economic and immigration policy. Additionally, most respondents agreed that the Republican Party takes Latino Americans for granted (39%) as compared to the Democratic Party (22%). Interestingly, more respondents describe the Republican Party as a good option for public safety compared to the Democratic Party, even in the face of increased fear and anxiety over being attacked for being Latino.  

What do experts say? 

Dr. Ernesto Castañeda, Director of the Center for Latin American and Latino Studies at American University, discussed this survey on Telemundo. As he states, the data from this poll are unsurprising given the very strong anti-immigrant rhetoric that Donald Trump and the Republican Party campaigned with and continue to use. Rather than focusing on people with violent criminal records, ICE raids and subsequent deportation, often without due process, have detained and deported people with all types of immigration statuses, and thus increased fear among Latinos. Castañeda points to comments by Justice Cavanagh and decisions by the conservative majority in the Supreme Court that made detaining someone based on their appearance and manner of speaking permissible, further blurring the lines between individuals with papers and those who are undocumented. In light of these violent mass deportations and detentions happening in public places, following stereotypes and racial profiling, it is no wonder that many Latinos report a decreased feeling of belonging in the United States. 

Regarding the impacts of these recent events, Dr. Castañeda explains that the feasibility of immigrants achieving the American Dream is decreasing. While people still arrive in the United States with high hopes that “they can come and work hard, send remittances, enjoy a better life, and that their children can go to university, in the United States right now, we see high underemployment rates, and many people are afraid to go to work because of mass raids. We are seeing inflation. It is harder to pay for health insurance, housing, and to save.” In this way, the American Dream is stalled. Since the end of the pandemic, the U.S. had seen a rapid and strong economic recovery, which Dr. Castañeda attributes largely “to the people arriving, especially from Latin America, seeking asylum—Venezuelans, Cubans, Haitians, Nicaraguans, and others—which increased the US population by 1%, which was very significant.” With the border closing under the current administration and deportations by the dozens of thousands, businesses are unable to grow at the same rate. Dr. Castañeda underlines: “If there’s less migration, it doesn’t mean there will be more jobs for locals. It means there will be less work for everyone, and more people will lose their jobs because the demand for goods and services decreases, businesses cannot hire and grow, and therefore they stop hiring and start firing workers.” 

Additionally, research shows that immigrants are much more likely to start businesses and hire more workers than businesses started by native-born citizens. Therefore, the lack of immigration has a negative impact on the overall economic growth of the United States. As Dr. Castañeda describes, “the fact that Latinos aren’t going to work here means there are fewer nannies. There are fewer construction workers, fewer lawyers, fewer nurses… it also makes many Latinos afraid. They don’t go to the markets, they don’t go to the malls, they are spending less, which has an impact, and many immigrants, seeing that there’s no American Dream anymore, aren’t going to bring their families or many of them are thinking about returning to their country.” 

The decreased sense of belonging by the Latino/Hispanic community has affected numerous outlets that embrace these cultures. Some events honoring Hispanic Heritage Month were canceled. This hurt artists, folk dancers, and musicians, as well as the larger public, who did not have the opportunity to engage with these rich cultural traditions. “Latin restaurants are struggling,” Dr. Castañeda says. “Hundreds are closing because they can’t hire enough people; workers are afraid to go to work because food is so expensive. So, it’s no longer a profitable business for them. The decline of the Latino food business also means fewer dining options, fewer cultural spaces, and fewer opportunities for communities to enjoy Latino cuisine. This is a loss for the United States as a whole.” 

Hope and Resilience in the Face of Uncertainty 

How should the Latino community respond to the ever-changing political landscape in the United States? Dr. Castañeda urges people to “stay calm and continue with their daily lives. We often do this for our children and grandchildren​,​ who, I truly believe, will have a good future. This storm is temporary. This will pass.” Importantly, he points out that nearly 80% of Americans view immigration positively. Mass raids are not popular​, ​and vulnerable​​ communities are​ witnessing​ peaceful protests carried out by citizens who are physically placing their bodies between immigration agents and migrants ​​who are in the process of being​​ detained. The November 2025 elections indicate that a majority of Americans reject the current administration’s extreme policies on immigration and the mismanagement of the economy. The anti-immigrant sentiment is ​driven ​primarily by​​ the federal government under Donald Trump, not the American people. With a hopeful outlook, Dr. Castañeda says, “I think that once this nightmare is over, there will be a greater sense of belonging, so we have to have patience, have faith in your fellow citizens, and I do truly believe that this will pass and the future will be better for U.S.-born Latinos and those immigrants who are able to stay. There will be concrete actions that will tell Latinos that they belong because this is their home.” 

Anjini K. Patel is a Sociology Research & Practice MA candidate at American University (AU) and works as a graduate research assistant at the AU Inequality, Social Justice, & Health Lab. Her research interests include immigration, criminal legal system & housing justice, and artivism & community building.

“We Knew We Were Going with God”

Religion, Hope, and Perseverance

By Tabby Ford

Photo by Katheryn Olmos; Silver Spring, MD

Migration is often a difficult process for those who leave their home country, both physically and emotionally. Whether their migration was motivated by finances, safety, or better career and educational opportunities elsewhere, leaving is not easy. The dangerous conditions of the journey and the uncertainty of what lies ahead deter many and can be overwhelming for those who proceed. For some migrants, religious belief gives them courage and strength to push forward, despite the stressful and hazardous obstacles they may encounter.

Many migrants and asylum seekers attribute their safety and the safety of others in their group to prayer and “God’s blessing” despite the dangerous conditions they faced on their journey to the United States. Especially for those who emigrate from Central and South America, the journey may require travel through multiple countries, often on foot or by car, and obstacles such as rough terrain, gangs, and hostile immigration agents. In some cases, migrants’ faith protects them from the emotional toll of potential danger. As one migrant from Venezuela states, when asked if he felt like he was in danger during his journey north, “No, we weren’t afraid. I mean, we knew we were going with God.” His faith kept him going during the long journey.

Migrants who encountered dangerous obstacles also attribute their successful journey to God. For Arturo, from Venezuela, the journey was incredibly dangerous. He crossed a 60-mile stretch of dense rainforest, known as the Darién Gap, with strangers, enduring hunger and exhaustion. Armed groups are known to extort migrants at gunpoint in this remote area, and those unable to pay sometimes never return. “We saw other people being kidnapped… thank God they didn’t catch us,” he recounted, describing the terror of running through the forest with a child in his arms and the relief of making it through. Eduardo, from El Salvador, recounts being shot at by immigration authorities at one point in his journey and how many members of his group survived due to their prayers; “Thank God, praying to God and the Virgin Mary, we hid [from] them … God already performed the miracle.” For one Honduran immigrant, Alma, her migration journey was shaped largely by religion. While she was born in Honduras, she was brought to El Salvador as a teen to attend a high school run by Catholic missionaries. Her religion, education, and physical location have long been intertwined. Although she has needed to move a lot and now must adjust to living in yet another new country, she says, “things happen for a reason. I always say, sometimes you feel lost, but God is showing you something… You gotta, you know, go forward.” She attributes her prayers and God’s plan to where she is in life, especially her education and career. For many immigrants, even though their faith and belief in God did not shield them from life-threatening conditions and the challenges of immigrating, their faith fueled their courage, guiding them along the way.

Houses of worship often play an integral part in assisting migrants, especially in the first few months after arrival, by providing a space for community building and cultural events. They also become sources of mutual aid. For instance, this can be seen in local Mosques and Ukrainian churches, where Afghan and Ukrainian refugees, respectively, utilize resources. For example, Oleg, from Ukraine, reports a lack of restaurants that serve Ukrainian food in the region he settled in. Despite this lack of places to go out and eat Ukrainian food, he says that “usually, [he] can get something from the church.” Although he is able to make Ukrainian food at home, the local Ukrainian church is Oleg’s only option for connecting with the wider Ukrainian community over a meal. Another example is Latif, a refugee from Afghanistan, who also utilized resources from local churches and mosques. In his efforts to further his education in the United States, he learned that a local mosque “had some funds to help some refugees get an education.” He used these funds to enroll in an IT certificate program, which helped him find a job that aligned with his career goals.

In addition to getting material resources from local religious groups and congregations, many migrants also rely on faith in God’s plan to get through the difficult transition and settling process. Once in the United States, religious migrants use their belief system as motivation to create a new life in their new community. They are able to leverage their belief systems for community engagement and to establish a sense of belonging. Many migrants also report celebrating religious holidays in local congregations and communities with similar cultural backgrounds or with other immigrants from their home country. Faith helps to form the lens in which people see the world through. As one Mexican woman states, “I practice my faith, […] I’m Catholic, so I ground myself a lot in just the human dignity coming from something beyond me.” Arturo, an immigrant from Venezuela embodies this mindset well, as his faith has helped him in adjusting to his new life and feeling a sense of belonging. As he states, “We are all equal as the children of God, we are all equal.” His belief system has given him an optimistic attitude about his new home and how he has been received.

Although it is taking him time to learn English, Arturo also thanks God for his ability to pick up enough English to get by in his work as a delivery driver and for his work permit allowing him to make money to send home: “Right now at this moment thank God at least I have the work permit, I have my partner and I am about to find a way to get my papers together.” He implies that process of finalizing his immigration papers will involve lots of time, money, and effort, but is hopeful and thankful to God for where he is and that he at least has a work permit. Similarly, Silvia, who immigrated from El Salvador in her 20s, implies that God’s work helped her in finding a job when she first arrived in the United States, saying “It was almost not difficult for me, thank God, because a lady gave me a job who had a business selling pupusas.” Arturo and Silvia both thank God for where they are in life now and have trust in their religious beliefs to carry them where they need to be.

For many people who undertake the process of immigration to the United States, their faith and religious beliefs are as essential to their journey and adaptation as it is to every other aspect of their life. Religion plays an important role in maintaining hope and resilience throughout the danger and uncertainty of both the journey and the destination. Once arrived, religious communities, positive outlooks, and faith in a bright future help immigrants settle and feel like they belong in their new home country.

Tabby Ford is a Research Assistant at The Immigration Lab and a Sociology Research & Practice MA Candidate at American University

Edited by Quinn Pierson, Sociology Research and Practice MA Candidate at American University, Ernesto Castañeda, Director, and Chris Belden, Research Assistant at the Center for Latin American and Latino Studies and the Immigration Lab.

“Se me ha hecho misión imposible”

“Se me ha hecho misión imposible”: How U.S. Immigration Policy Dehumanizes Migrants of Color

By Iran Pacheco Martinez

Image of a stethoscope and paperwork. Retrieved from Cutler Integrative Medicine.

“(a) In General.–Subject to subsection (b), an individual may be entitled to, or enrolled for, benefits under this title only if the individual is–

“(1) a citizen or national of the United States;

“(2) an alien who is lawfully admitted for permanent residence under the Immigration and Nationality Act;


This segment, part of Sec. 112103 of the Trump administration’s Big Beautiful Bill, restricts Medicaid benefits for U.S. citizens and lawful permanent residents. Policies like these, that value legal status over human need, convey the message that undocumented individuals are less deserving of safety, dignity, and support—reducing complex human lives to a legal category that erases their struggles and humanity.

Divisive immigration policies are often written in rooms that exclude individuals with experience or knowledge about immigration. As a result, these laws further criminalize immigrants and enable the mistreatment of immigrants, including in detention facilities, where conditions are often life-threatening, marked by freezing temperatures, inadequate nutrition, and a profound lack of regard for immigrants’ humanity.

Twenty-six interviews with migrants from Venezuela and El Salvador provided valuable insights into their journeys to the United States and their experiences with integration. The findings indicate that many migrate to the United States in pursuit of safety and stability due to limited academic and employment opportunities, gang violence, government corruption, poverty, and hyperinflation in their home countries.

Throughout the interviews, participants shared their experiences accessing medical care, seeking employment, and navigating the U.S. systems—experiences that revealed a broader unwillingness to accommodate their unique circumstances.

Neglecting migrants’ basic needs often begins early in their journey, particularly as they’re taken to and held at detention facilities in the United States. Venezuelan and Salvadoran migrants recall conditions in detention facilities so extreme that the detention experience alone might have dissuaded their journey to the U.S. One migrant shares their experience in detention:

“…si yo hubiera sabido de que cuando me entregaran me iban a poner a pasar tanto frío y esas cosas créeme que no fuera viajado para acá, ¿me entiendes? Porque allí se sobrepasan, como te he dicho, se sobrepasan con el frío, me entiende, con alimentación, cómo te van a dar galletas y papitas, y jugo, comida de mala calidad, sabe, que por lo menos te den comida que te tengan fuerte…


“…if I knew that when they handed me over, they were going to make me go through all that cold and those things, believe me, that I wouldn’t have traveled here, you know? Because there they go overboard, like I told you, they go overboard with the cold, you know, with food, how are they going to give you cookies and chips, and juice, poor quality food, you know, at least they should give you food that keeps you strong…”

—Ruben, Venezuelan Man, 26 years old

One participant expressed concern for the impact that extreme facility conditions may have on young children:

…lo único, como digamos, incómodo, eh, en el caso de que uno tiene niños es que, eh, la migración de aquí, bueno le dicen la hielera, ellos le dicen haci, entonces es como un sitio bastante como extremo para los niños no, que son tan chiquitos, y hace frío allí.”


“…the only thing, let’s say, uncomfortable, eh, in the case that someone has children is that, eh, immigration [officers] from here, well they call it the icebox, they call it that, so it’s like- like a pretty extreme place for children, they’re so little, and it’s cold there.”

—Andrea, Venezuelan Woman, 26 years old

Reducing people to negligible subjects–held in freezing, inhumane detention facilities– simply for pursuing better living conditions.

The challenges faced by migrants do not end upon their entry into the United States. Limited access to resources for migrants is a looming and prevailing barrier to their financial stability and success.

Many migrants reported that language barriers make obtaining employment in the United States especially difficult. In instances where employment opportunities are available, workers encounter exploitative conditions or discriminatory treatment. As one Venezuelan migrant recalled:

…aquí trabajé, fue construcción… Entonces tampoco me gustó porque esa me pagan demasiado poquito, trabajaba en el sol y por lo que yo estaba haciendo sentía que no me pagaban bien…


…I worked here, it was construction… So I didn’t like it either because they paid me too little. I worked in the sun, and because of what I was doing, I felt like they weren’t paying me well…”

—Mauricio, Venezuelan Man, 23 years old

Another Venezuelan migrant recalls an encounter in which an English-speaking desk worker yelled at him as he delivered a mobile app order:

“…te voy a decir algo; me sentí humillado, a veces cuando voy, conserje o gente de seguridad a un edificio que no sé, si algún número en inglés y me maltratan, y siento que… porque me gritan, y yo por respeto me quedo callado…


“ …I’m going to tell you something, I felt humiliated, sometimes when I go, a janitor or security personnel to a building that I don’t know, if a number in English, and they mistreat me, and I feel that… because they yell at me, and out of respect I stay quiet…”

—Ruben, Venezuelan Man, 26 years old

While many claim that, as “guests” in this country, migrants have a responsibility to learn English, the resources to do so are not always widely available or even accessible.

These interviews reveal the many forms of dehumanization that many migrants endure. They are met with detention in harsh conditions, are denied access to language resources essential for employment, and are subjected to mistreatment in the workplace. Rather than being welcomed with dignity, they are met with indifference, exploitation, and disrespect.

Additionally, access to medical care poses another urgent challenge, especially for recently arrived migrants. This has become increasingly concerning, particularly in light of the recent passage of the “Big Beautiful Bill.” One mother from El Salvador explains that she has struggled greatly to obtain medical attention because she lacks a Social Security Number:

…no he podido obtener un seguro de salud porque no tengo el social… se me ha hecho misión imposible, he buscado en unos lugares, eh, me mandaron a un lugar después no hay cita, después me mandaron a otro lugar ‘tiene social, no? No hay cita,’ después otro lugar ‘¿tiene social, no? No hay cita,’ entonces así he estado durante como dos meses aproximadamente, y entonces se me ha hecho imposible, sí.


“…I have not been able to get health insurance because I don’t have a social [security number]… It’s become an impossible mission. I’ve looked in some places, they sent me to one place, then there was no appointment, then they sent me to another place, ‘Do you have a social [security number]? No? There’s no appointment,’ then another place, ‘Do you have a social [security number]? No? There’s no appointment,’ so I’ve been like that for about two months, and so it’s become impossible for me, yes.”

—Andrea, Venezuelan Woman, 26 years old

Using legal status as a measure for determining access to essential support reinforces harmful hierarchies. This perpetuates narratives of “illegal” or “criminal,” which dehumanize immigrants and may limit efforts to create viable pathways to citizenship.

Many people in influential positions are themselves descendants of immigrants who once sought a better life or fled catastrophic conditions in search of safety. Yet some of these same individuals now work to deny others that very opportunity, advancing policies to exclude others. They may have “forgotten” the immigrant experience—the fear and uncertainty, the exclusion, and the forced assimilation. Instead, they write immigration laws driven by biases and the desire to preserve power.

Some lawmakers want a white, English-speaking, and wealthy America, even if achieving it comes at the expense of others. Meanwhile, these same lawmakers refuse to create attainable pathways to citizenship for migrant workers who pay billions in taxes every year. Instead, they dismantle existing authorization processes and shift their focus toward excluding people of color, casting them as dangerous, undeserving, and less than human.

Migration to the United States in pursuit of safety and stability should not be criminalized, nor should it be used to strip people of their dignity and humanity. Can we not imagine their desires and actions as our own if we were in a similar situation? Would we not also relocate to safety if our livelihoods were threatened? And, would we not want others to approach us with respect and empathy?


Iran Pacheco Martinez is a Research Assistant at The Immigration Lab and a Government and Legal Studies double major with Latin American, Caribbean, and Latinx Studies at Bowdoin College.

Edited by Ernesto Castañeda, Director, Katheryn Olmos, Lab Coordinator, and Nadia Issah, Research Intern at the Center for Latin American and Latino Studies and the Immigration Lab.

The First Freedom

The First Freedom: How We Lost Sight of Our Oldest Right—The Freedom of Movement

By Bashir Mobasher  

Image: David Peinado Romero / shutterstock.com

Today, when we speak of migration, we no longer picture the awe-inspiring journeys of Herodotus, Xuanzang, Marco Polo, Ibn Battuta, or James Cook, men who ventured across oceans and deserts, through empires and unknown lands without needing a permit to enter and sometimes even received an audience with curious royalties.[1] We forget that their stories represent countless others, unnamed, unrecorded. We overlook the migration of the earliest human, homo erectus and homo sapiens, those bold crossings over mountains and plains, rivers and seas, islands and continents, by people who knew no boundaries, only the pull of necessity, survival, and discovery. They exercised the most ancient human freedom: the freedom to migrate.

Now, when we hear the word migration, our minds leap not to the journey, but to borders, passports, patrols, visas. We ask whether someone’s movement is legal or illegal, allowed or forbidden. We debate thresholds and quotas, risks and threats. Rarely do we ask the more human question: Does a person have the right to move freely? Doesn’t a person have the right to seek safety, pursue happiness, or simply adventure elsewhere?

What once seemed instinctive is now seen as impermissible, unnatural, even immoral. But this distorted view of movement is astonishingly new. It is newer than carriages and clocks, than spectacles and telescopes. For most of human history, the idea that one needed permission to move would have been absurd. Questioning human migration was questioning human nature—it still is. For over 90% of our existence as hunter-gatherers, humans were entirely dependent on movement.

Even with the rise of agriculture and the building of cities, migration between spaces remained natural to individual and social life. Entire communities shifted with the seasons. Trade and travel routes like the Silk Road, the trans-Saharan highways were arteries of constant movement. Nomadic peoples endured. Even the settled recognized migration as a response to drought, war, or opportunity. One needed no reason, or any reason would suffice.

This right to move is older than nearly all others. It predates the right to property, that most revered right in American political mythology. Property only became relevant when humans began to fence off land. Even the American settlers who enshrined property rights had to first migrate across oceans and continents to claim the land often by force. The right to the ‘pursuit of happiness’, enshrined in the US Declaration of Independence (1776), presupposes freedom of movement. Before there was freedom of speech, freedom of religion, the right to vote, or the right to due process, there was the right to migrate. Kings and empires might silence your tongue, outlaw your prayers, chain your thoughts, but they rarely questioned your decision to migrate. To migrate was beyond question. Often, it was the only freedom you could use to protect other personal rights by going to a new place. As the most respected freedom, it was the guardian of all other rights and freedoms.

Ancient thinkers, and traditions revered it as a sacred endeavour. Herodotus wrote, “Human prosperity never abides long in one place.” Aristotle saw migration as part of the natural order, while Socrates found it preceded new polities and civilizations. Religious traditions elevated migration into a moral duty: Abraham’s journey across deserts, the Exodus of the Israelites, the disciples’ missions across lands and cultures, and the Prophet Muhammad’s Hijra from Mecca to Medina were not mere detours or escapes. They were profound tales of faith, survival, and liberation in these traditions. Similarly, the Buddha’s Great Renunciation, the exiles in the Ramayana and Mahabharata, and the Anishinaabe migration were considered sacred journeys in these traditions shaping both the self and the world.

And yet today, that great engine of human history has been stalled. The rise of modern nation-states, colonial cartographies, and rigid immigration regimes has replaced this freedom with control. The invention of passports, visa systems, and surveillance bureaucracies has shackled what was once humanity’s most basic instinct. A species that roamed the earth for millennia now finds itself trapped inside boxes, walled by citizenship papers, embassies, fences, and checkpoints.

Ironically, it was the very colonial powers who once championed expeditions, economic and political adventurism, and settlement expansion that later rebranded rather more peaceful and kinder versions as a threat. The same empires that moved freely across oceans and continents in search of resources and dominion turned around to criminalize movement when it came from the margins. They eagerly promoted a pantheon of liberal rights, including free speech, religion, property, and even humanitarian intervention, but withheld the most ancient and universal of them all: the freedom of movement.

When the Universal Declaration of Human Rights was adopted, freedom of movement was included but subtly severed from the act of migration. A quiet sleight of hand. The right to leave was affirmed; the right to enter was not. It was a masterstroke of legal illusion, a political magic trick from the Western sleeve that has since cast a spell over global consciousness. A disillusion so complete, we forgot that the right to move was indeed the right to migrate; and it was never theirs to define, give or take. It was ours all along.

They even manufactured some baseless rights like preemptive self-defence, preemptive strikes, trade liberalization, and economic embargo, but somehow framed the right to migrate as too unrealistic, too disruptive, too dangerous to recognize. Denying the right to free movement has never been merely a matter of security or order; it reflects much deeper structural concerns. Facilitating and even coercing the flow of capital and resources from the Global South while restricting the movement of people ensures that global inequality remains entrenched, locking entire populations into structural disadvantage. These deeply embedded, often racialized, immigration systems have historically privileged certain regions and populations over others.

This redefinition has traveled far beyond its Western origins. For example, it is not only the United States or Germany that now deport Afghans, the very people they once claimed to protect. So too does Pakistan, Iran, and Tajikistan, who call Afghans their ‘Muslim brethren’, their ‘cultural kin’, their ‘linguistic neighbours’. Yet all these words evaporate at the border. Solidarity collapses at the gate.
Today, we no longer speak of migration as a right. We speak of it as a problem. A crime, a disruption to be managed. The image of the migrant has shifted from that of a seeker or survivor to that of an invader. We no longer greet them with wonder. We do not ask about their journeys, their struggles, their dreams. We fear them. Our attention has shifted from people to policies, from humanity to geography. We have created a world where those most in need of movement are the most forbidden to move. People are trapped in war zones, failing economies, and ecological disasters, not because they cannot escape, but because they are not allowed to. The powerful still glide across borders with ease; the vulnerable are held hostage by the coordinates of their birth. Worse still, this system has seeded hatred and xenophobia, nationalism, and exploitation. It has enabled trafficking where safe passage is denied. It has weaponized difference and built moral hierarchies out of geography. Borders are no longer lines; they are Great Walls of China, dividing people, excluding them.

To forget this freedom is not only to forget our past; it is to endanger our future. In boxing humanity into artificial lines, we have betrayed the very idea of freedom. We have turned a natural preservation instinct, a birthright, into a crime. We have silenced the journey. And in doing so, we have not only lost sight of our first freedom; we have lost a piece of what it means to be human.
 

[1] The empires were, however, hesitant to let Ibn Battuta and Marco Polo leave because they needed their services, not because they had some random law about migrations.

Dr. Bashir Mobasher teaches at the American University (DC) Department of Sociology, New York University DC, and the American University of Afghanistan Departments of Political Science. Dr. Bashir is the current President of Afghanistan Law and Political Science Association (in Exile). He is an expert in comparative constitutional law, identity politics, and human rights. He has authored, reviewed, and supervised numerous research projects on constitutional law, electoral systems, and identity politics. His recent research projects are centered around decentralization, social justice, and orientalism. Bashir obtained his B.A. (2007) from the School of Law and Political Science at Kabul University and his LLM (2010) and PhD (2017) from the University of Washington School of Law.

Walls, Fear, and Misinformation

Walls, Fear, and Misinformation: How the Securitization of Immigration in the US Fuels Xenophobia

By Lauro Accioly

Public perceptions in the U. S. regarding Latin American immigrants sometimes reflect historical traits of xenophobia. Some surveys and studies suggest that individuals who perceive Latin American immigrants as threats to cultural identity, public safety, or job security are significantly more likely to support hardline immigration measures, including the construction of a wall along the U.S.-Mexico border—a costly and symbolically charged project. This negative perception can be exacerbated by misinformation, which reinforces such misconceptions about immigration.

The construction of a border wall was one of Donald Trump’s flagship political promises and a pillar of his broader migration agenda during his 2016 presidential campaign. He largely promoted his political agenda via Twitter, while spreading misinformation and distortions on immigration and many other topics. Research shows that many of the negative perceptions of immigrants, regardless of legal status, are highly distorted. When it comes to crime in the U.S., for instance, there is ample evidence that immigrants – both documented and undocumented – are less likely to commit crimes than native-born citizens. Nonetheless, a substantial number of Americans still believe that immigration increases criminality. This phenomenon is borne out in data indicating that during Trump’s first administration, the majority of crimes were committed by native-born Americans, and their crime rate was higher than that of the foreign-born. Nationally, the crime rate among undocumented immigrants has historically been low. Since 1980, immigrants have exhibited lower incarceration rates than native citizens – a pattern sustained for over 150 years.

Image of Construction at the U.S.-Mexico Border Wall. Retrieved from DVIDS.
Image of Construction at the U.S.-Mexico Border Wall. Retrieved from DVIDS.

Given these facts, is misinformation the primary factor shaping the negative perceptions about immigrants? I argue that although misinformation does play an important role, it is the most dangerous when accompanied by a state framing of insecurity and aggressive policies. A concept widely discussed in International Relations – securitization – has gained relevance in this debate. This concept explores how certain issues are strategically framed as matters of national security or threats, thus legitimizing the adoption of emergency and exceptional measures. Some scholars have argued that this process results in the social engineering of insecurity, wherein certain topics are repeatedly framed as security problems to justify restrictive policy responses. Doing so often creates more issues than it solves, such as the rising death toll among migrants who, in an effort to bypass highly securitized zones, are forced to take more dangerous and often deadly routes.

This scenario directly applies to the issue of the US-Mexico border. Heavy investment in surveillance and enforcement infrastructure has led to additional challenges, such as increased migrant mortality. As migrants are forced to seek out more dangerous routes, their lives are placed at greater risk. This reflects a deterrence-based strategy.  The intention is to discourage irregular migration, rather than completely prevent individuals traveling through Mexico — including, but not limited to, Mexican nationals—from entering the country. The strategy of prevention through deterrence, first institutionalized during the Clinton administration, was strengthened under George W. Bush in the context of the Global War on Terror and later became a central pillar of Donald Trump’s hardline immigration agenda.

This logic of deterrence is deeply embedded in the broader process of securitization, which has become a recurring reference point in U.S. politics—especially following the attacks of September 11, 2001. In the post-9/11 era, the U.S. government expanded the national security paradigm to encompass irregular migration, portraying it as a potential threat akin to terrorism. This discursive and policy shift helped to legitimize a range of exceptional measures, including militarized borders, the use of surveillance technologies, and increased detention. In this way, the logic of securitization that shaped the U.S. response to 9/11 continues to inform and justify current immigration enforcement practices.

The US-Mexico border wall – one of Trump’s main campaign promises – exemplifies how securitization and misinformation go hand in hand in shaping immigration policy. Particularly among groups who believe that immigration worsens crime and harms the economy, there is a tendency to support border-closing policies, such as the wall, and who further amplify false and distorted information about immigration. His repeated attacks on the character of immigrants strengthened the belief that immigrants pose an immediate threat to the country. His statements, combined with the dissemination of misleading data, not only distorted the reality of immigration in the U.S. but also resulted in policies that increased precarity for migrants and heightened state violence along the border.

Beyond the political and social consequences, the securitization of immigration directly affects the lives of migrants, rendering their conditions in the U.S. increasingly precarious. Border militarization, for instance, does not fully prevent irregular immigration. It simply makes migration more dangerous. The criminalization of migration leads to detention, family separation, mass deportation, and the marginalization of entire groups of people. This process fuels restrictive policies, deepens migrant marginalization, and sustains a distorted view of the migratory reality.

Misinformation and securitization discourses from politicians and state actors construct immigration as a threat. Parties and citizens may buy into this rhetoric for political and self-serving reasons.

The broader context of insecurity is reinforced by both real and manufactured crises. This politically manufactured sense of insecurity aims to legitimize tougher border policies and reinforces a cycle of exclusion: the more immigrants are framed as dangerous or destabilizing, the more justification arises for restricting their rights and intensifying control measures. This is circular logic and justification that only breaks once reality intrudes to break the spell.

Lauro Accioly Filho is a PhD candidate at the Interinstitutional Graduate Program in International Relations – San Tiago Dantas and a Visiting Scholar at American University (Washington, D.C.).

Edited by Rob Albro, Associate Director, and Ernesto Castañeda, Director, at the Center for Latin American and Latino Studies 

Fleeing Collapse, Facing Barriers

Fleeing Collapse, Facing Barriers: The Venezuelan Crisis and U.S. Immigration Hurdles 

By Katheryn Olmos, Emma Wyler, & Isabella Serra

Photo of popular Venezuelan activist, Rafael Araujo, holding a sign that says, “Feb 12th 2014-2015 Impunity Persecution and Torture,” at a protest in Caracas, Venezuela on February 12, 2015. Image retrieved from Wikimedia Commons.

Severe Humanitarian Emergency in Venezuela

Just a few decades ago, Venezuela stood as a beacon of economic prosperity and oil wealth on the Caribbean coast of South America. However, the rise of authoritarian rule led to economic collapse, widespread corruption, and rampant inflation, creating a dangerous political climate that forced millions to flee their homes.

For many Venezuelans, including the 48 living in the Washington Metropolitan region (DMV) whom we interviewed, migrating to the U.S. was not their first choice when pursuing a more stable life. Previously, many Venezuelans migrated to and were displaced from places closer to home, from neighboring countries such as Venezuela, Colombia, Peru, Chile, and Brazil.

Venezuelan displacement is driven by a myriad of circumstances. Almost all of the Venezuelans we interviewed expressed that the economic situation in their home country, including hyperinflation, food scarcity, and inadequate wages, is not viable to sustain themselves or their families.

“No hay trabajo. [Cuando] hay trabajo y te quieren pagar, son 20 dólares semanales. Sí, y eso es muy poco dinero para los consumos de mi mamá, mis hijas. Nada más un bote de leche son 10 dólares. ¿Y me quedan 10 dólares para qué?”

“There’s no work. When there is work and they want to pay you, it’s 20 dollars a week. Yes, and that’s very little money for my mom and daughters’ basic needs. Just one gallon of milk costs 10 dollars. That leaves me 10 dollars for what?”

— Gabriel, Venezuelan Man, 28

When asked about corruption and impunity playing a role in the reason they migrated, the answer is almost always “yes.” Many of our participants experience corruption and political persecution from their government.

“Pues primero por la escasez de comida, y segundo, el barrio donde yo vivía era uno de los barrios más peligrosos de Venezuela… No tanto por parte de los que te roban sino más que todo por la policía. A la policía no importa si eres sano, si eres delincuente, igualito te extorsionaban, te sembraban drogas, de todo… nada más por el hecho de que uno perteneciera a La Cota 905 pensaban que ya uno estaba relacionado con [la pandilla]. Sí a todo el mundo que agarraron o sembraron le daban golpe, lo metieron preso, lo desaparecía… Te mataban y te ponían un arma, y ponían carajo de la banda de La Cota 905, cuando no es así. Entonces esa fue uno de los principales motivos porque me vine: La policía.”

“Well, first, because of the scarcity of food, and second, the neighborhood where I lived was one of the most dangerous neighborhoods in Venezuela…Not so much by people who rob you, but mostly by the police. It doesn’t matter to the police if you’re normal or if you’re a criminal; they still extorted you, planted drugs, everything. Just because you belonged to La Cota 905, they thought you were part of the gang. Everyone they grabbed or planted on was beaten, imprisoned, disappeared… They’d kill you and put a gun on you, and they’d say you were from La Cota 905 gang, when that’s not true. So that was one of the main reasons why I left: The police.”

— Andres, Venezuelan Man, 25

Humanitarian Protection Terminated

Given the unsafe conditions back home, many of the interviewees entered the United States under humanitarian parole, a common pathway to seek protection. The discriminatory attempt by the second Trump administration (now being blocked in federal court) to terminate humanitarian parole for Venezuelans, Cubans, Haitians, and Nicaraguans (CHNV) has upended the legal status for over half a million immigrants, and threatens to block all new applicants from these countries from receiving humanitarian protection. As of December 2024, 117,330 Venezuelan nationals had entered the U.S. under humanitarian parole. As Nicolas, a 29-year-old Venezuelan man, described:

“Entré con un permiso humanitario… A través de la aplicación [CBP One]. Ahorita no tengo los papeles, pero estoy en Estados Unidos gracias al permiso humanitario que ofrece Estados Unidos. Me lo aprobaron. … Cuando estaba en Chile, me aprobaron la entrada legal.”

“I came in with a humanitarian parole… Through the [CBP One] application. Right now, I don’t have the papers, but I’m in the United States because of the humanitarian parole that the United States offers. They approved me. … When I was in Chile, they approved me for legal entry.”

— Nicolas, Venezuelan Man, 29

In the appointment-making process for their asylum cases and legal processing, many interviewees used the CBP One app.

“Había hecho varios registros [en la aplicación CBP One] y todo eso, y no salía nada… Y trabajé hasta que me salió la cita… Estuve casi 12 meses, 11 meses [en México esperando la cita]… Entonces, de ahí, me dieron [la cita] para San Ysidro… Cuando por fin crucé, pues, solo la felicidad de estar aquí, todo fue, bueno, incluso mejor. Y de ahí llegué, compré [un boleto], tomé mi vuelo, y luego volé hasta aquí.”

“I had done several registrations [on the CBP One app] and all that, and nothing came up… And I worked until I got the appointment… I spent almost 12 months, 11 months [in Mexico waiting for the appointment]… So, from there, I got [the appointment] for San Ysidro… When I finally crossed, well, just the happiness of being here, everything was, well, even better. And from there, I arrived, bought [a ticket], I got my flight, and then I flew here.”

— Diego, Venezuelan Man, 19

The CBP One app, once a tool to schedule asylum appointments, was shut down by Trump and transformed “self-deportation” tool. This effectively weaponizes one of the only services for Venezuelans to legally process their asylum applications.

Venezuelans we spoke to often had experience with the Temporary Protected Status (TPS) program. TPS provides temporary protection and work permits to individuals who are unable to safely return to their home countries.

In February of 2025, President Trump announced his intentions to upend TPS for Venezuelans, stripping the 700,000 who would have been eligible for the program. While ending TPS for Venezuelans backpedals on basic humanitarian protection policy, our interviews shine a more nuanced light on the program’s existing limitations. TPS was too temporary to be a pathway.

“Ah sí, porque con el estatus temporal, o sea, lo dan solo por 18 meses. Y el asunto es que, para cuando lo recibes, ya casi se está acabando, así que nadie te va a dar un trabajo por un mes y luego te quedarás, ya sabes, sin los papeles legales.”

“Oh yeah, because with the temporary status, I mean they give it for only 18 months. And the scene is by the time you receive it. It’s almost already sparse, so I mean, nobody will go in to give you a job for a month, and then you will be, you know, without the legal paper.”

— Alejandra, Venezuelan Woman, 73

Despite its limitations, now that TPS is terminated, Venezuelans in the U.S. have lost their temporary work authorizations and currently risk deportation. The sensationalization of Venezuelan deportations by the Trump administration is an escalation of racial profiling experiences that interviewees previously reported.

Experiences in the U.S.

The hardships Venezuelans face do not end at the border. Our team looked deeper into the immigrant experiences of Venezuelans upon entering the U.S.

Many of our interviews uncovered further obstacles, including racial profiling, political persecution, labor exploitation, health implications, and detainment.

A commonality we discovered within our interviews is that people who seek refuge in the United States are criminalized based on their country of origin. Many Venezuelans interviewed experienced racial profiling committed by American police enforcement. The following interview, along with several others, reported job exploitation and unlivable wages. Racial profiling by police is a common thread among our interviews.

In our interviews with Venezuelans who had been detained in the United States, there were reports of close confinement and stress leading to health issues. On his experience being detained, a young man shared:

“Hubo un momento en que, prácticamente por tanto encierro, se me estaba cayendo el cabello del estrés y de tanto pensar. A veces quería pedir la deportación, y a veces me decía a mí mismo, ‘No estoy aquí, ya no estoy aquí’… Entonces aguanté, y cuando salí, me rapé la cabeza porque se me estaba cayendo el cabello.”

“There was a moment when, practically from so much confinement, my hair was falling out from the stress and the thinking. Sometimes I wanted to ask for deportation, and sometimes I said [to myself], I’m not here, I’m not already here… Then, I held on, and when I came out, I shaved my head because my hair was falling out.”

— Jose, Venezuelan Man, 23

U.S. Border Patrol agents process migrants at the Central Processing Center in McAllen, Texas, Sunday, June 17, 2018. Retrieved from picryl.

Key Takeaways

Venezuelans had to leave their worlds behind to escape the humanitarian crisis, just to face repeated struggles in an escalating authoritarian regime seizing power in the United States. Daniel, a 46-year-old Venezuelan man, described that throughout the difficult journey across the Americas, all he was doing was:

“Buscando una oportunidad de vida y una mejor calidad de vida, buscando una forma en la que me puedan dar una oportunidad o de tener mis documentos. Buscar un estatus.”

“Looking for an opportunity and a better quality of life, searching for a way in which they can give me the opportunity of having documents… a chance to have a status.”

— Daniel, Venezuelan Man, 46

ICE now weaponizes these discriminatory views of Venezuelans, painting them as gang members or terrorists. These are not unlike the claims with which the government in Venezuela used to persecute normal citizens back home.

The rampant political corruption, lack of transparency and due process, and smothering of dissent are escalating in the United States. This is a story Venezuelans know because they have already witnessed the fall of a functioning democracy to authoritarian excesses.

At the end of the day, a Venezuelan man responds to the question of whether he sees himself as an immigrant, saying:

“Yo le digo una cosa, todos somos iguales porque somos personas, somos seres humanos [a pesar de haber] nacido aquí y allá en diferentes ciudades. O sea, no quiere decir que seas tú más que el otro porque tengas más dinero. Todos vamos a morir, vamos a un solo hueco.”

“I’ll tell you what, we’re all the same because we’re people, we’re human beings [despite being]… born in different cities. In other words, just because you have more money doesn’t mean you’re more than everyone else. We’re all going to die; we’re going to the same hole.”

— Liam, Venezuelan Man, 29


Katheryn Olmos, Research and Data Coordinator at the Immigration Lab and graduate student in the Sociology Research and Practice program at American University.

Emma Wyler, Research Assistant at the Immigration Lab and undergraduate student at American University.

Isabella Serra, Research Assistant at the Immigration Lab and recent graduate of American University.

Edited by Jacqueline Aguirre De La O, Noah Green & Ernesto Castañeda

Detention Inc: A Private Industry of Immigrant Detention Centers

How the Private Immigration Detention Industry Functions and Thrives in the US

By Tazreena Sajjad, PhD and Jack Spehn

The United States is home to the oldest and largest immigration detention system in North America and arguably, in the world. As of June 24, 2025, approximately 59,000 immigrants are being detained across the country under the jurisdiction of Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE), the federal agency responsible for enforcing immigration law within the United States, with roughly 46,000 being detained on an average day since January 26. These numbers, significant as they are, are still notably below the Trump administration’s April claim that the government had “surpassed the entirety of Fiscal Year 2024” in immigration enforcement, with over 151,000 arrests and 135,000 deportations. As of late June, ICE’s detention level is at over 140% capacity.

Furthermore, despite the claims that these arrests —and even the most recent travel ban on 19 countries and counting— are a response to a dangerous invasion and a threat to the US, there is little empirical evidence to suggest that the vast number of detained immigrants present a “clear and present danger” to either US national security interests or to the American public. In fact, approximately 47%  of those currently detained by ICE lack a criminal record, and less than 30% have been convicted of crimes that constitute minor offenses, including traffic violations. Meanwhile, the immigration detention business is only slated to expand – the new budget (OBBBA) approved by Congressional Republicans has allocated $45 billion for the construction of new immigrant detention centers alone, including facilities for family detention.

 A growing number of immigrants are being incarcerated in the US in the private immigration detention industry, on which the US government increasingly relies for immigration enforcement. In recent years, it is estimated that as many as 90% of ICE detainees in the US have been incarcerated in facilities operated by private immigration detention companies. 

The discussion below provides an overview of the US immigration detention system’s growing reliance on the private sector, the extent to which these companies continue to derive enormous profits from immigration imprisonment, and how they navigate the US political landscape. Despite widespread allegations and documentation of abuse in these private detention centers, the industry continues to generate significant profits and thrive on support from different public and private actors.

Understanding US Immigration Detention 

In the US, immigration detention refers to the federal government’s ongoing practice of confining individuals in a range of facilities for violating immigration law. Confinement may last the duration of an individual’s immigration proceedings and, in certain situations, even after their immigration proceedings have been completed. While lacking a current immigration status is a civil violation and immigration detention under the law should be “nonpunitive and preventative,” many of its aspects are indiscernible from criminal incarceration. Detained immigrants are incarcerated in prisons and prison-like facilities; required to wear government-issued uniforms and wristbands with identifying information at all times; and have highly regimented lives under constant surveillance. Detainees are also subjected to discipline and segregation, with very limited access or contact with the world outside. Furthermore, immigrant detainees do not receive the same legal protections as criminal defendants, i.e., they do not have the right to government-appointed counsel. They also do not have the privilege against self-incrimination, the right to a speedy trial, nor are they protected from the ban on cruel and unusual punishment.

Over the past several decades, changes in the federal immigration enforcement policy paved the way for an expansive rise in detention rates. For instance, in 1973, the U.S. government detained a daily average of 2,370 migrants and increased to 5,532 by 1994. By 2009, the numbers had surged to 34,000; by 2019, the numbers had risen to a record 55,000.

Chart: Austin Kocher Source: ICE Get the data Embed Download image Created with Datawrapper

Chart: Austin Kocher Source: ICE Get the data Embed Download image Created with Datawrapper

What is clearly notable in these numbers is that since the 1990s, the US immigration policy has relied extensively on detention as a primary means of immigration enforcement. The 1988 Anti-Drug Abuse Act and the 1994 Violent Crime Control and Law Enforcement Act increased the incarceration of  U.S. citizens, particularly the Black population. In addition, the 1996 enactment of the Antiterrorism and Effective Death Penalty Act (AEDPA) and the Illegal Immigration Reform and Immigrant Responsibility Act (IIRIRA) ushered in a new era of U.S. immigration detention. Succinctly, these two latter laws not only broadened the types of criminal offenses that could trigger removal proceedings but also expanded the categories of noncitizens — including legal permanent residents — who could be detained without the possibility of release pending the completion of their removal proceedings, and even be subjected to deportation.

Following 9/11, immigration transformed into a national security concern, evidenced by the US Patriot Act, conflating terrorism with the arrival of people at US shores, while drawing on long-standing anti-immigrant sentiments and rhetoric. Under President George W. Bush, the immigration system underwent dramatic changes with Immigration Naturalization Service (INS) being replaced by the U.S. Citizenship and Immigration Service (USCIS), Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE), Customs and Border Protection (CBP), and the creation of the Department of Homeland Security (DHS), which housed all these agencies. DHS’ 2003 Operation Endgame used ICE to detain and deport all “removable aliens by 2012” –possibly the largest police operation in US history– was particularly instrumental in expanding immigration detention and deportation. During Obama’s presidency, the implementation of the detention bed quota (later removed in 2017) and the expansion of deportation programs such as the Secure Communities and the Criminal Alien Program resulted in thousands of immigrants being incarcerated in detention centers. Following the significant number of Central American arrivals in 2014, immigration detention —particularly family detention— expanded further.

Under the first Trump administration, the deportation dragnet became more extensive with increasing number of 278 g agreements – which allow for state and local law enforcement to work collaboratively for “protecting the homeland” – subsequent community raids, elimination of policies that prioritized detention and deportation of “criminal immigrants,” mandatory detention, and a skyrocketing detention budget that produced a growing system of mass incarceration. In FY 2019 alone, the detention system held more than 500,000 immigrants.

President Biden further funded the increase in the number of detention beds, broadened the 287(g) program, and pursued new and expanded detention facility contracts. Biden’s 2021 executive order directing the Department of Justice to phase out its contracts with private prison companies did include ICE contracts, since the agency is part of the Department of Homeland Security. Indeed, at the beginning of Biden’s presidency, there were fewer than 15,000 in ICE detention, yet the FY2024 spending bill he signed just a few years later provided funding to detain a daily average of 41,500 immigrants. While years of local organizing to end ICE contracts bore fruit along with the growth of pro-immigrant state legislation in multiple places like Irwin County, Georgia, the pipeline to detention has consequently grown, largely as a result of arrested migrants funneled through border apprehensions.

The Private Immigration Detention Industry: Growth and Expansion

The private detention industry plays a critical role in enabling immigration detention in the US. In August 2023, the American Civil Liberties Union (ACLU) reported that more than 9 out of 10 immigrant detainees were held in private prison facilities. Such corporations argue that private prisons are important in immigration management due to their cost-effectiveness, increased safety, and the humane treatment of inmates. In particular, GEO Group and CoreCivic (formerly the Corrections Corporation of America) are two companies responsible for the largest number of private immigration detention facilities in the country. Since the early 1980s, both companies have played a significant role in dominating the private prison industry to satisfy the growing demand for prisons. With the shrinking of the prison population in recent years, GEO Group and CoreCivic adapted their prison facilities to incarcerate noncriminal immigrants in the civil immigration system. In 2020, CoreCivic and GEO Group held half of all ICE detainees while bringing in billions of dollars in revenue through ICE detention contracts. As of December 31, 2024, CoreCivic operated 69 correctional, detention, and reentry facilities domestically, with a total capacity of roughly 76,000 beds. As of the same date, the GEO Group operated 99 facilities worldwide in 2024, with a total capacity of approximately 79,000 beds, the majority of which are located in the US.

The use of private immigration detention companies is by no means limited to Republican administrations; Democratic administrations have also increasingly relied on this industry for immigration enforcement. In fact, in July 2023, more than 90 percent of the average 30,000 people held daily in ICE detention were housed in private facilities.

The profit margins of the most prominent private detention centers have also been notable. From 2000 to 2020, the combined annual revenue of just the GEO Group and CoreCivic rose from well under half a billion dollars to around $4.5 billion. In 2022, GEO Group, which operates internationally as well as domestically, had $1.05 billion in revenue —43.9% of its total revenue from ICE contracts alone. This included $408 million, a significant 17%, on programs involving electronic monitoring of immigrants. In the same year, CoreCivic made $552.2 million (i.e., 30% of its total revenue) from ICE detention contracts. For FY 2023, the US Congress also appropriated $2.9 billion dollars to hold 34,000 people in ICE detention each day.

In 2024, CoreCivic reported a total revenue of $2 billion, up from $1.9 billion in 2023. A little over $1 billion came from federal contracts. Revenues from ICE  totaled $564.8 million in 2024, and $565.5 million in 2023. Meanwhile, GEO Group reported consolidated revenues of roughly $2.4 billion in 2024, 91% of which came from domestic contracts. ICE accounted for 41.5% of the company’s total 2024 revenues.

Both CoreCivic and GEO Group state plainly that their ability to grow is dependent on their ability to secure contracts to develop and manage new facilities. In turn, ICE has a heavy reliance on these private companies and their subcontractors.

Photograph of a CoreCivic Detention Center by Patrick Feller. Retrieved from Flickr.

Photograph of a CoreCivic Detention Center by Patrick Feller. Retrieved from Flickr.

The second Trump administration, with its overt commitment to an anti-immigrant agenda and increase in detention and deportations, has continued to be a boon for the private immigration detention industry. ICE plans to spend as much as $45 billion over the next two years on immigration detention. CoreCivic, in its end-of-2024 financial disclosures, stated “[we] expect demand from the federal government for our correctional and detention facilities to increase under the new presidential administration, particularly from ICE, as a result of anticipated changes in immigration policy.” Meanwhile, GEO Group said, “[we] continue to be encouraged by the current landscape of growth opportunities” and are “preparing for what we believe is an unprecedented opportunity…” Their excitement is evidently shared by their investors; both companies’ stock prices increased dramatically in the aftermath of the November 2024 election and remain well above their average pre-election value.

Questions for the Private Immigration Industry

The U.S. private immigration detention industry —like the private prison industrial complex— has long thrived based on the argument that its existence is necessary to reduce the costs of incarceration to state and federal correctional agencies and the burden on taxpayers. In fact, privatized companies have cut corners, such as reducing basic facilities for detainees and cutting back on their wages, in order to deliver on their promise of cutting government costs while maximizing profits for their shareholders.

While these measures may deliver in the short run, existing research shows they are far more likely to be more expensive in the long run. In addition to the reduction of services and reduced wages that negatively impact imprisoned immigrants, the U.S. immigration detention has long continued to be subject to intense scrutiny for human rights abuses, including verbal and physical assault, sexual harassment, insufficient food and nutrition provision, mistreatment of marginalized communities, insufficient access to medical care, negligence, lack of transparency and accountability alleged by many detainees. In May 2024, a group of U.S. Senators wrote to the Department of Homeland Security and ICE about “well-documented horrific conditions, such as ‘yellow drinking water,’ forced sleep deprivation, prolonged solitary confinement, inadequate medical care, limited access to legal counsel, and violent retaliation against those who complain.” A joint report by the ACLU, Physicians for Human Rights, and American Oversight found that 49 out of 52 deaths during detention ICE reported between January 2017 and December 2021 were “preventable or possibly preventable if appropriate medical care had been provided.” In certain cases reviewed in the report, medical staff vacancies and other health care deficiencies were found to have contributed to deaths. Groups such as Human Rights Watch have also documented multiple instances of substandard medical practices, including “unreasonable delays, poor practitioner and nursing care, and botched emergency response,” contributing to deaths in both publicly- and privately-operated facilities. Government oversight and regulatory bodies have consistently failed to anticipate, mitigate, identify, and rectify the conditions that enable such abuses. 

Private Immigration Detention Companies’ Successful Navigation of Criticisms

During President Obama’s time in office, the 2016 Inspector General report led to a directive to phase out private prisons, causing the stocks of private detention firms to tumble. However, this trend did not translate into significant economic damage for the private immigration detention industry or dampen enthusiasm for its existence. Instead, companies such as Geo Group and Core Civic, continued to develop and expand their public lobby efforts, including making donations to political campaigns. CoreCivic spent $3.7 million in lobbying throughout 2014 and 2015, with nearly $2 million in additional political donations. During Trump’s first presidential run for office, GEO Group donated US$100,000 to his 2016 campaign, and CoreCivic made large contributions to support his inaugural activities. Following President Trump’s 2016 electoral win, both firms’ stocks soared. Soon after, Trump’s Attorney General Jeff Sessions rescinded the Obama directive, citing concern that it would impair “the Bureau’s ability to meet the future needs of the federal correctional system.” In 2017, Texas State Representative John Raney told the Associated Press that a GEO Group lobbyist directly authored legislation that sought to lower childcare standards for private detention centers and extend the amount of time immigrant children could be detained.

Political contributions and lobbying funds remained high throughout the Biden administration. In 2022, GEO Group reported spending more than $4 million on political contributions and $3.1 million on lobbying expenditures, while CoreCivic cited more than $1 million in political contributions and $2.2 million in lobbying fees. Existing research suggests a possible connection between the political contributions made by these companies and their sponsorship of legislation in Congress that benefits the private detention industry. Their methods of influence can also take less overt forms. For example, the contracts these companies sign with governments often include “mandatory minimum” provisions, which guarantee payment for a set number of beds and thus create a financial incentive for governments to fill these spaces. A January 2021 review by the Government Accountability Office (GAO) found that “ICE has increasingly incorporated guaranteed minimum payments into its contracts and agreements … [but] has not taken a strategic approach to these decisions and has spent millions of dollars a month on unused detention space. Some immigrant rights groups have argued that this creates a waste of resources and a financial incentive to keep more immigrants detained within private facilities.

In 2023 alone, CoreCivic reported $983,250 in total political contributions and approximately $2 million in total direct lobbying expenditures at the federal, state, and local levels. In February 2025, GEO Group, along with its associated political action committee, reported a total of $4.02 million in political contributions alongside $3.97 million in direct lobbying expenditures. The company states that their efforts “are focused on promoting the benefits of public-private partnerships in the delivery of support services for secure facilities and processing centers…”, but that they “have not advocated for or against … criminal justice or immigration enforcement policies, such as whether to criminalize behavior, the length of criminal sentences, or the basis for or length of an individual’s incarceration or detention.” CoreCivic also reported donating half a million dollars to the Trump-Vance inaugural committee in December 2024. CoreCivic states that its lobbying efforts are “designed to educate” government officials about “the benefits of partnership corrections”, and that they avoid advocating “for or against policies or legislation that would determine the basis for or duration of an individual’s incarceration or detention.” 

Conclusion

The United States’ growing reliance on the private immigration detention industry has little to do with the country’s national security interests or protecting the American public; but it has consistently been about maximizing the profit margin through the imprisonment of some immigrants with criminal records, but many undocumented immigrants, asylum-seekers, and even lawful permanent residents. Existing research has repeatedly underscored that the private immigration detention system is costly and unsafe, and in several instances, in violation of U.S. and international human rights laws. Yet, the system persists, bolstered by both Democratic and Republican administrations. Under President Trump’s second term, the anti-immigrant agenda has ushered in a time of even more ICE raids, detention, deportation, violent family separations, and human rights violations. All of this leads to a more extensive reliance on private detention centers, which stand to benefit financially from these incarcerations, so much so that CoreCivic’s CEO Damon Hininger describes the present times as “truly one of the most exciting periods in my career.”

For more you can listen to Nancy Hiemstra and Deirdre Conlon, and Austin Kocher ICE Detention Numbers Explained

“I was extorted, not a gang member”

How the United States Classification of MS-13 as a Terrorist Organization Complicates Immigration for Salvadorans

By Edwin Santos

El Salvador has long struggled with the legacy of organized violence, most notoriously through gangs like Mara Salvatrucha (MS-13) and Barrio 18. Until recently, these gangs wielded near-total control over neighborhoods, operating extortion rackets that shaped the daily lives of ordinary Salvadorans. While recent efforts by President Nayib Bukele’s administration have dramatically curtailed gang activity, the effects of past criminal governance continue to haunt Salvadorans, especially those navigating the United States immigration system. The 2025 executive order issued under the Trump administration, classifying MS-13 as a terrorist organization, may have aimed to combat transnational crime, but it also intensified the exclusion of Salvadorans in and from the United States. This designation renders many Salvadorans inadmissible to the United States and ineligible to receive immigration benefits—not because they pose a threat, but because they were once forced to “pay rent” to survive.

Photograph of Federal Court by Carol M. Highsmith. Retrieved from Raw Pixel.

Before El Salvador’s recent crackdown, gang extortion was a widespread and normalized form of criminal taxation. For years, MS-13 and Barrio 18 demanded weekly or monthly payments from residents, street vendors, and business owners. Refusal to pay often led to harassment, violent retaliation, or even death. This practice was not a matter of choice—it was a matter of survival. Victims lived in a state of constant psychological distress, stripped of agency and decreasing trust in institutions.

Extensive journalistic investigations documented this grim reality. The 2020 VICE documentary Pay Up or Die: The Gangs Extorting a Nation featured firsthand accounts from Salvadorans who, to stay alive, had to close businesses, relocate, or pay gangs what they could. Similarly, Killers on a Shoestring: Inside the Gangs of El Salvador, a 2016 report by The New York Times, illustrated the staggering scale of gang influence, which, according to this article, once spanned 94 percent of El Salvador’s municipalities. These criminal groups extracted payments from nearly 70 percent of small businesses at their peak. For many Salvadorans, paying rent to a gang was not collaboration—it was a survival mechanism.

In January 2025, the Trump administration issued an executive order that allowed criminal organizations to be designated as Foreign Terrorist Organizations (FTOs) or Specially Designated Global Terrorists (SDGTs). A month later, the U.S. Department of State officially designated MS-13 as such. While this classification may have served political objectives and enhanced the United States government’s ability to prosecute gang leaders, it also marginalizes Salvadoran nationals who were once coerced into coming into contact with the gang. This classification now has serious repercussions for Salvadorans navigating the United States immigration system.

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Under Section 1182 of the Immigration and Nationality Act (INA), individuals who have provided “material support” to terrorist organizations are considered inadmissible to the United States. This includes anyone who has paid money, offered food, or given shelter to a designated group. Crucially, the Board of Immigration Appeals (BIA) case, Matter of M-H-Z, 26 I&N Dec. 757, established that even when providing material support to a terrorist organization is done under duress, it still constitutes a bar to admissibility under the INA. Thus, Salvadorans who previously paid extortion fees to MS-13 to protect themselves and their families could still be barred from entering the United States. As such, a Salvadoran street vendor who once paid $10 a week to avoid being killed by MS-13 may be barred from entering the United States to visit a loved one on a tourist visa or to come to our border and seek asylum the “legal way”—even if they are fleeing the very violence the United States condemns.

This legal rigidity is not only unjust—it is blind to the realities that Salvadorans have endured and the lives they now wish to lead. The landscape in El Salvador changed significantly in the last few years due to mass incarcerations under the Bukele government’s state of exception. Today, many Salvadorans are not fleeing imminent violence, but wish to reunite with their loved ones who once fled the Civil War or gang violence that once terrorized the country. Many may seek to travel to the United States to participate in their loved ones’ most important moments: meeting a newborn grandchild, attending a sibling’s wedding, or celebrating a child’s graduation.

For Salvadorans in the United States with deep transnational ties to El Salvador—especially in cities like Los Angeles, Washington, D.C., and Houston—these visits are acts of love and family unity, not security risks. Yet the application of terrorism-related inadmissibility rules still casts a wide and indiscriminate net, making it nearly impossible for some to obtain even a tourist visa if they had any past contact with MS-13, regardless of context. Not to mention those who have legitimate persecution claims and are fleeing from violence. This legal structure contradicts both humanitarian principles and the reality of criminal governance in El Salvador. The majority of those who interacted with MS-13 did so under threat, not allegiance.

There is no doubt that MS-13 committed acts of brutality. Their transnational reach and harm are undeniable. However, the blanket classification of the organization as a terrorist entity, combined with a rigid application of immigration law, fails to account for the nuance of civilian life under criminal regimes. Salvadorans who were extorted by gangs are not terrorist sympathizers or supporters; they are victims. Continuing to penalize them under blanket statutes undermines the humanitarian values the United States claims to uphold.  This United States policy punishes those who suffer, treating survivors of violence as security threats rather than individuals in need of protection.

United States policymakers must revise the implementation of immigration statutes, such as Section 1182, to recognize the lived experiences of those under criminal control. Anything less is a failure to distinguish oppressors from the oppressed. This includes incorporating mandatory exemptions for individuals who acted under duress and updating the waiver process to be transparent, accessible, and timely. Additionally, it means recognizing that people migrate not only to flee but to connect—to love, to celebrate, to live. Salvadorans deserve the chance to do so without being condemned for surviving a past they never chose.

What Does It Mean to Provide Sanctuary? 

by Ernesto Castañeda, PhD. Director of CLALS and the Immigration Lab, American University

Photo Credits to Jeff Haynes/AFP/ Getty Images in “Churches have a long history of being safe havens — for immigrants and others.”

The term “sanctuary” dates back to late-imperial Rome and pre-16th century Western Europe, when temples, monasteries, and churches were places where victims, run-away serfs, and fugitive criminals were provided protection from local or remote government authorities. Religious houses would provide temporary protection to walkers who wanted to protect themselves from crooks or lords based on the Christian traditions of intercession between persecuted individuals and political authorities, and the ability of religious authorities to provide penance and to rehabilitate people through faith, prayer, and sometimes communal labor or what we would call now “community service.” Churches and hostels along pilgrimage routes welcomed strangers, who were protected due to their participation in religious rituals en route to shrines and sacred places. Think of today’s walking pilgrimages on the road to Santiago de Compostela in Spain and the hostels and inns along the way. Authorities would then recognize this practice. Emperor Constantine, “guaranteed sanctuary in Christian churches in 324 C.E.” (Rabben 2011: 55). Pope Leo I also wrote about sanctuary and gave Bishops the role of intercessors and advocates in favor of fugitives (Rabben 2011: 56).  

The early practice of providing sanctuary in Europe is similar to how churches, along with religious and activist networks, were used to construct the Underground Railroad in the United States during slavery. This secret network helped enslaved people escape the South to free states, Canada, or Mexico. Harriet Tubman, a key figure in this movement, was deeply motivated by her religious faith and played a crucial role in freeing others. Her mission to help free enslaved people would not have succeeded without the support of White allies, who were less likely to raise suspicion. 

Starting in the 1980s, a group of U.S.-based religious activists, State Department workers, journalists, and human rights activists helped people fleeing political persecution in El Salvador and Guatemala. These individuals were escaping U.S.-backed dictatorial regimes and sought safety in American cities like Los Angeles, San Francisco, and Washington, D.C. James Cobert, an activist Quaker, would call it a “pro bono coyote operation … the activists would help Salvadorans cross into the U.S., then hide people’s homes and in churches until it was safe to interior of the country” (Blitzer 2024:60). Soon after immigration agents dragged a Salvadoran teenager from a Lutheran Church in LA after an outcry by parishioners, the local INS Director produced an order, “in essence, saying the church is a sanctuary, but it is not established in law” (Blitzer 2024:69). This marked the birth of the modern sanctuary movement in the United States. Individuals acted because the U.S. government was unwilling to accept people from these countries as refugees, all while helping the regimes that caused their migration.  

These actions partly merged with a nascent immigrant rights movement in the U.S., paralleling movements in France, where undocumented immigrants sought protection from deportation by living inside churches in Paris and other cities. With media coverage, public support, and pressure, some of them were able to legalize their status after months of living in sanctuary.  

At some point, larger jurisdictions, including cities, started declaring themselves “sanctuary cities.” However, this is largely a symbolic self-declaration. There is no federal legal definition because there is no federal ‘sanctuary’ law that specifies what this entails or what protection it guarantees. The practical meaning happens on a case-by-case basis. Though generally, these cities are places where there is tolerance for foreign-born, minority, and undocumented populations. 

After the end of the Obama administration, authorities in major cities such as New York and Los Angeles began adopting policies more friendly to undocumented migrants. One of the most important policies and practices is the type of collaboration they have with federal immigration agencies. When the local police arrest a person, their immigration status may come up, and with it the question of whether to notify federal immigration authorities, such as ICE, automatically or only in cases involving major crimes. When ICE finds that an undocumented person has been arrested, they may ask local authorities to hold them so that ICE can pick them up. Under agreements following Section 287(g) of the Immigration and Nationality Act, many jurisdictions, particularly in Republican-led Southern states, actively cooperate with ICE to seek the prosecution of undocumented people through federal agencies. In these areas, local police and sheriffs can become deputized to work as immigration law enforcement agents. Most sanctuary cities do not automatically cooperate in this way; what matters is whether they prioritize prosecuting actual crimes or primarily focus on identifying individuals who are circumventing immigration law, which is part of civil law, not criminal law. 

The key issue is whether local police wait for federal immigration authorities to intervene and sometimes initiate deportation proceedings, or release individuals who have not committed a serious crime. This is where local discretion is crucial and where being in a sanctuary city or not can make a significant difference. 

Because each state or local authority has its own laws, policies, and practices, local police departments, even those within the same metropolitan area, may or may not collaborate with federal immigration agencies. 

While living in a sanctuary city may offer some protection, there is no guarantee that local or federal authorities will not verify immigration status. Most immigrants understand this reality, so they try to limit their activities to home and work as much as possible, keep a low profile, and are extra careful not to commit crimes or violate any laws. This is partly why crime rates are significantly lower for immigrants than for U.S.-born people. Many immigrants distrust the police, so they avoid standing out and may refrain from driving or leaving home unnecessarily. 

But the Trump administration, like other Republican administrations in the past, is seeking maximum possible coordination and collaboration. The number of 287(g) agreements has increased, and Florida is the state with the most of these agreements.  

Zoom in and see more details on the ILRC’s interactive map here

In the contemporary United States, there has not been a true ‘sanctuary’ city, where federal agencies like ICE cannot arrest and initiate deportation proceedings. It is not true that an undocumented person can simply arrive in a sanctuary city, request asylum, and be protected from deportation. 

ICE agents have the authority to conduct raids in factories, stores, restaurants, as well as in public places and private residences, with certain limitations. ICE can do so with or without court orders, and they often do not inform local authorities in sanctuary cities ahead of time. 

Nevertheless, Trump and other Republican politicians have verbally targeted sanctuary cities and accused them of “protecting” undocumented people. They also say that sanctuary means immigrants abusing social programs. In reality, this is rarely the case as immigrants use welfare programs at lower rates than other groups. They pay more taxes and receive retirement benefits than others, even after retirement, because they cannot access Social Security payments, despite having contributed to the system. Immigrants often don’t ask for tax returns for overpaid, and many do not access assistance programs that they have the right to, so as not to be seen as a public charge. 

The refusal of sanctuary cities to cooperate with federal immigration agencies does not render these cities more dangerous or unlawful. Nonetheless, the federal government has threatened to withhold resources from sanctuary cities. 

The White House is currently trying to favor state and local authorities that align with its immigration policies. Republican administrations, such as those of George W. Bush and Donald Trump, have attempted to incentivize local authorities with resources to perform federal tasks, including reviewing immigration status and signing 287(g) agreements. 

On his first day in office, President Trump signed a series of executive orders on immigration that permitted federal agents to search for undocumented people in churches, schools, and hospitals—places that were previously considered “sensitive” and that should be exempt from immigration enforcement and raids. Even a church stopped offering masses in Spanish in fear that Latino migrants would be targeted. 

“Border czar,” Tom Homan openly spoke of targeting Chicago because of its sanctuary policies. Chicago and the state of Illinois are both governed by Democrats. Mayor Brandon Johnson and Gov. JB Pritzker have defended their support for sanctuary city laws known as “Welcoming City” ordinances. Tom Homan, along with the Secretary of Homeland Security, Kristi Noem, occasionally accompany immigration enforcement agents in field operations—often for media coverage and to put pressure on local authorities to collaborate with federal authorities.  

Even with sanctuary status, there is not much a mayor can do to prevent ICE from conducting raids or apprehensions. In addition to Chicago, other cities that have recorded raids or operations by federal agents include Denver, Houston, San Antonio, Miami, and Atlanta, and increasingly around the country

A college campus that calls itself a sanctuary campus does not provide any legal protection from deportation to people within its community. The important thing is that administrators, faculty, and university members treat everyone with respect and good intentions. Undocumented people have the right to attend public schools and attend college as well as graduate and professional schools, but unless they are under DACA, they are not protected from deportation under current laws. Something that is long overdue for Congress to fix. 

Mass deportations happened during the Biden and Obama administrations, but there was less day-to-day media follow-up of these deportations. Now, there is much more attention from the public to what is happening and how it is being done. 

This is partly because of the central role that Trump has given to mass deportations in his political agenda. Along with Homans, Noem, and Stephen Miller, Trump wants to conduct deportations on a larger scale, at a faster rate, and more aggressively than ever before in the United States. While doing so, they are violating many rules, including immigration law procedures, due process, and other constitutional rights. 

Going back to the beginning of the tradition of sanctuary, if citizens want to protect undocumented members of their communities from deportation, asking their city, town, or campus to declare themselves a sanctuary is not enough. They must call for amnesty in the mid- and long-term, and in the short term, they would have to take matters into their own hands, as monks and priests have done in the past. They have to revive underground railroads and do what the families hiding Anne Frank and others did to protect them from Nazi roundups, as depicted in the powerful series “A Small Light.”   

Edited by Katheryn Olmos. This piece builds on a piece published in Spanish on BBC News World, 28 January 2025, based on an interview with Castañeda by Darío Brooks. 

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Immigration Policies Harm Families’ Economic Wellbeing and Mental Health

by Ernesto Castañeda, PhD. Director of the Immigration Lab, American University

Policy brief presented at the Dirksen Senate Building on May 21, 2025.

It bears repeating that immigrants are an integral part of America’s past, present, and future. They are members of local communities. Immigrants are parents and grandparents of many U.S. citizens. Most have been here for years and are part of mixed-status families, where one or more members may be out of immigration status. Immigrants, including undocumented ones, are crucial to the U.S. economy. Most of what immigrants earn is spent on rent, groceries, services, and transportation.

In the current text of the “One Big, Beautiful Bill Act,” there is a provision to tax remittances by 3.5%. Remittances are the money that immigrants, with or without authorization, send to their families in their place of origin. Remittances are most likely to come from the wages that immigrants earn through their hard work, for which the great majority have already paid taxes. Beyond the issue of double taxation, a tax on remittances may not generate enough revenue to make it worthwhile to administer the program and enforce it. Many would simply avoid this taxation by sending the money through informal means or traveling themselves. Furthermore, taxing remittances would not be enough to change people’s decisions about immigrating or returning. Immigrants already pay between 6 and 3% of what they send in fees to (mostly U.S.-based) businesses such as Western Union that help facilitate these transfers.

Remittances are direct evidence of the many contributions that immigrants make to the U.S. economy. Remittances come from wages, and wages come from producing ideas, art, goods, and services. Thus, I calculate that in 2023, those who sent remittances contributed over 2.7 trillion, which is 10% of the U.S. GDP.  Therefore, remittances represent only 3.5% of all the wealth immigrant workers create in the U.S.

Economic contributions of immigrant workers who remitted in 2023. Source Castañeda 2025.

Most importantly, remittances come at the cost of long-term family separation. Many working-age adults come to the U.S. without documents to work and send money to their spouses and children back in their hometowns, who cannot come to the U.S. due to restrictive immigration laws and heavily patrolled borders. This produces decades-long family separation: parents working in the United States and their children living in developing countries. The mental health implications for minors left behind include feelings of abandonment, separation anxiety, and continued grief for an ambiguous loss.

Children grow with more financial resources but without cohabiting with their parents. Many stay behind under the care of grandparents. Still, once their caregivers pass, we may witness unaccompanied minors heading north, as we have seen since 2014, coming from El Salvador, Guatemala, and Honduras. As we document in our book “Reunited,” the reasons why youth migrated were violence, extortion, and recruitment by gangs, higher educational and economic goals, but primarily the desire and possibility of family reunification with their biological parents.

Beyond the separation experienced by “transnational families,” families divided by borders, we increasingly see cases of family units traveling together that are sometimes separated at the border, as well as settled mixed-status families who suffer from family separations due to deportations. The arrest and debasement of parents by authorities in front of children can create a sense of insecurity. Children feel parental separation as abandonment, resulting in reduced self-esteem and self-efficacy. When legal avenues for asylum and low-skilled workers are reduced, international migration becomes more expensive, dangerous, stigmatized, criminalized, and possibly traumatic. This reduces worker productivity and the emotional resources immigrants can deploy to raise the next generations of Americans.

Immigration is an investment in the form of human capital and economic resources. In 2023, the USA received over $7.2 billion in remittances, largely from immigrant family members. Immigrant-initiated family separations produce remittance flows, but they also produce negative health outcomes for the children of immigrants abroad. State-initiated family separations due to deportations weaken the economy by removing breadwinners and leaving U.S.-family members more vulnerable to economic and psychological stressors. Deportations impact international and U.S. families; they also impact foreign economies in the short term but weaken the U.S. economy in the short and longer terms by reducing the size of the workforce and the overall population. A sign of this is that for every working-age person deported to Mexico (who earns the minimum wage in both countries), Mexico loses around US$4,200 in remittances but could gain around $22,613 yearly in wealth by adding another much-needed worker. If the U.S. deports 5 million Mexican citizens and some of their adult U.S.-citizen or third-country family members, Mexico could gain US$113 billion, almost double the US$63 billion remitted to Mexico in 2023. This would also cause family reunifications and population growth in Mexico.

What can Congress do? Taxing remittances is counterproductive. Many immigrants could have faced significant trauma in their countries of origin, and on their way, and immigration law enforcement creates new stressors that exacerbate depression, anxiety, and PTSD. Amnesty programs and creating new pathways to citizenship to ease family reunification and immigrant integration would result in higher taxes, better security, and physical and mental health for all US residents.

Thanks to Tanya Golash-Boza and the staff of the University of California DC Center and the Scholar Strategy Network for co-organizing the policy briefing with CLALS.

Published May 23, 2025.

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