Congress is once again at the center of a storm over civil liberties, as a controversial new bill threatens to upend the traditional boundaries between national security and free speech. The Department of State Policy Provisions Act (H.R. 5300), introduced by Representative Brian Mast (R-FL), is rapidly advancing through committee, igniting fierce debate about the future of Americans’ right to travel and express dissenting political views.
At first glance, the bill looks like a straightforward response to the global threat of terrorism. It would empower the Secretary of State—currently Marco Rubio—to deny or revoke U.S. passports from citizens accused of providing “material support” to organizations labeled as foreign terrorist groups. But as The Intercept and other outlets have reported, critics warn that the bill’s vague language could have far-reaching, even chilling, consequences for political activists, journalists, and ordinary Americans alike.
“This would allow thought policing at the hands of one individual,” Seth Stern, advocacy director at the Freedom of the Press Foundation, told The Intercept. “Marco Rubio has claimed the power to designate people terrorist supporters based solely on what they think and say—even if what they say doesn’t include a word about a terrorist organization or terrorism.”
The bill arrives in the wake of a high-profile case that has already put Rubio’s approach under scrutiny. In 2024, Turkish doctoral student Rumeysa Ozturk saw her U.S. visa revoked after publishing an opinion piece critical of Israel in her university newspaper. A court later determined there was no connection to terrorism, and the decision was overturned. Yet the episode highlighted how such powers could be used to penalize speech rather than criminal actions, especially as pro-Palestinian voices come under increasing pressure in the U.S.
Civil liberties groups, including the American Civil Liberties Union (ACLU) and the Freedom of the Press Foundation, have sounded the alarm. They argue that the bill could be wielded to silence critics of U.S. foreign policy—especially those who speak out against Israeli government actions—by branding their activism as “material support” for terrorism. Kia Hamadanchy, senior policy counsel at the ACLU, put it bluntly: “If somebody actually provided material support for terrorism, there would be an instance where it would be prosecuted. This just doesn’t make sense.”
What’s more, the bill’s reach extends beyond those convicted of a crime. It would allow the Secretary of State to deny or revoke passports from anyone charged—or even merely accused—of providing such support. No conviction, no trial, and no court order would be needed. The determination would rest solely with the Secretary, without the requirement to present evidence before a judge or guarantee a prior judicial process. As ColombiaOne and other sources have noted, this creates a scenario where Americans could lose their right to travel based only on suspicion or political disagreement.
Legal experts say the bill’s appeal process offers little comfort. Citizens would be able to challenge the decision within 60 days—but only to the Secretary of State, the very official who made the initial call. Critics argue that this is no real safeguard at all. “The appeal would go to the secretary of state—the same person who made the initial decision,” one analyst pointed out. “Without clear legal standards or independent review, the process could become a rubber stamp for prior decisions.”
The controversy is not happening in a vacuum. Since the October 7, 2024 Hamas attacks in Israel, pressure has mounted for tougher anti-terror measures. Pro-Israel organizations, such as the Anti-Defamation League and the Louis D. Brandeis Center for Human Rights Under Law, have accused campus groups like Students for Justice in Palestine of indirectly supporting Hamas through activism. Congress recently debated, but ultimately rejected, a proposal to allow the Treasury Department to strip nonprofit groups of tax-exempt status if deemed sympathetic to terrorism. Mast’s bill echoes many of the same themes, raising the specter of a government crackdown on dissenting voices.
Rubio’s tenure as Secretary of State has only heightened these concerns. According to The Intercept, he has expanded the list of designated terrorist groups at a rapid clip, targeting not just international networks but also gangs and cartels. His actions in the Ozturk case, as well as the attempted deportation of Palestinian green-card holder Mahmoud Khalil after being labeled a Hamas sympathizer, serve as warnings of how these broad powers can be deployed against individuals based on their political speech or associations—sometimes without any criminal charges at all.
The bill’s use of the term “material support” is another flashpoint. First introduced into U.S. law after the 1995 Oklahoma City bombing and expanded after 9/11, the phrase has been interpreted by courts and immigration officials in ways critics say are overly broad. In 2010, the Supreme Court upheld a ruling that even providing legal advice to a group designated as a terrorist organization could count as material support. In another notorious case, a woman kidnapped by Salvadoran guerrillas and forced into labor was deemed a “supporter of terrorism” during deportation proceedings. Such precedents fuel fears that Mast’s bill could criminalize not just actions, but speech and advocacy as well.
Supporters of the bill argue that it is a necessary tool to prevent terrorists and traffickers from exploiting U.S. travel documents. They point to the increased threat environment and the need for flexibility in responding to evolving security challenges. Some Republicans have voiced confidence that their party will wield these tools responsibly, seeing the bill as an extension of post-9/11 security doctrine. But even some on the libertarian right have expressed unease, recalling how similar powers have been abused in the past.
Opponents, meanwhile, warn that the law could just as easily be used by future administrations against different targets. “A Democratic secretary of state could, for example, target conservative activists or religious organizations under the same standards,” one analyst observed. The lack of independent review or judicial oversight, they argue, makes the bill a threat to all Americans, regardless of their politics.
For now, the Department of State Policy Provisions Act remains a proposal, with its first congressional hearing scheduled for this week. Yet the debate it has unleashed—over the balance between security and liberty, the power of government officials, and the meaning of free speech in a polarized era—shows no signs of abating. As lawmakers weigh the bill’s merits and dangers, civil liberties advocates are making clear that the stakes could hardly be higher.
In a political climate already marked by suspicion and division, the fate of this bill will test not just the limits of executive power, but the very foundations of American democracy.
