On a humid summer afternoon in Florida, Carlie sits in her small apartment, laptop open, attending yet another online class. The palm trees and bustling campus she once called home at the University of Central Florida have been replaced by the quiet, isolating walls of her room. For Carlie, who left Haiti at 13 and dreamed of a career helping others, the past year has been a harsh lesson in the shifting landscape of American immigration policy and higher education.
As of July 1, 2025, Florida revoked its 2014 law that allowed residents without legal status to qualify for in-state tuition at public colleges and universities, according to the Associated Press. This change, championed by Governor Ron DeSantis and supported by Lieutenant Governor Jeanette Nuñez—who originally helped pass the law a decade ago—has upended the lives of thousands of students like Carlie. More than 6,500 students benefited from the out-of-state tuition waiver in Florida during the 2023-2024 school year. With the repeal, many now face tuition bills that are nearly five times higher: at the University of Florida, in-state tuition for the upcoming academic year is about $6,380, compared to $30,900 for nonresidents, with housing and other expenses adding another $17,000 or more.
For students without legal status, the stakes are even higher. Florida’s public colleges and universities don’t specifically track their enrollment, but immigrant advocates expect attendance to drop. The financial burden alone is daunting, but recent agreements between multiple Florida colleges—including the University of Central Florida—and U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) have intensified fears of detention on campus. Carlie’s decision to switch to online courses at Purdue Global University, she says, was not just about money—it was about safety. "I chose online school because I simply don’t feel safe," Carlie told the Associated Press, explaining that being detained could mean days before anyone realized she was missing. She now lives on delivered food, rarely venturing outside, and feels the weight of her dreams slipping away: "It feels like all my hard work means nothing. Like, one day I can just lose it."
David, another Florida student, tells a similar story. Born in Honduras, he excelled in high school, taking dual enrollment and Advanced Placement classes, hoping to become a radiologist or physical therapist. But after losing access to in-state tuition, college became out of reach. While his friends headed to prestigious universities, David found himself working at McDonald’s. "When you come into this country and your parents make the sacrifice and you’re a kid, all they tell you is focus on school. I did just that," he told the Associated Press, speaking anonymously for fear of deportation. Now, without the waiver, he can’t afford to continue his education.
Florida’s move is part of a broader national trend. Across the country, tens of thousands of college students without legal status are losing access to in-state tuition as part of a sweeping immigration crackdown led by President Donald Trump and his allies. In April 2025, President Trump signed an executive order specifically targeting state laws that provide tuition benefits to undocumented students. The order argued that such benefits unfairly advantage students lacking legal status over out-of-state American citizens.
Since then, the U.S. Department of Justice has ramped up its efforts, suing states that offer in-state tuition and financial aid to undocumented students. In June, Texas became the first target, followed by Kentucky, Minnesota, Oklahoma, and most recently Illinois. According to WBEZ, the Justice Department’s lawsuits allege that these programs violate federal law and discriminate against U.S. citizens from other states. The Department of Education has also begun investigating colleges that offer scholarships to students without legal status, adding yet another layer of uncertainty for those trying to pursue higher education.
Illinois, which passed legislation in 2003 allowing undocumented students who attended high school in the state for at least three years to qualify for in-state tuition and state-funded scholarships, now finds itself in the crosshairs of federal authorities. With more than 500,000 immigrants without legal status—nearly 27,000 of them in higher education—Illinois stands to see thousands of students forced to pay double or even triple the tuition costs if financial aid is revoked. According to the Higher Ed Immigration Portal, more than 20 states still provide in-state tuition to undocumented students as of 2025, but that number appears increasingly fragile.
Advocacy groups like the Presidents’ Alliance for Immigration and Higher Education argue that offering in-state tuition to undocumented students is consistent with federal law and helps states maintain an educated, trained workforce. They point out that many of these students have lived in the U.S. for most of their lives, attended American schools, and aspire to contribute to their communities. But political winds have shifted. Programs that once enjoyed bipartisan support are now under fierce scrutiny, especially from Republican lawmakers and the Trump administration. Legal challenges are mounting, and colleges are scrambling to comply with new regulations.
The impact is not just financial, but deeply personal. Diego Dulanto Falcon, who earned a bachelor’s in psychology thanks to Florida’s tuition waiver and is now pursuing a master’s in public health, described the situation bluntly: "Fully undocumented students, they have absolutely no options. They either work under the table or they just don’t work at all." For many, the prospect of losing in-state tuition means the end of their college dreams—sometimes overnight.
Even educators feel the effects. Rosie Curts, a high school math teacher in Dallas, told the Associated Press she worries she won’t be able to motivate her students if college seems out of reach. Texas, which had provided in-state tuition to undocumented students for decades, saw a federal judge block the law in June. "The idea that that can all be snatched away from them in such a cruel fashion is demotivating to the whole educators’ mindset," Curts said.
Back in Florida, Carlie tries to focus on her studies, hoping for a day when she can walk across a campus again. "I’m trying to get my life back on track. I can’t stay home forever," she said. Her story is echoed by thousands of students across the country, caught between shifting policies and their own aspirations. As the legal battles continue and the political debate rages, their futures hang in the balance—one tuition bill, one policy change at a time.
