In the ever-evolving landscape of U.S. immigration and education policy, two major developments—one reaching back nearly three decades and the other unfolding this year—are converging to reshape the opportunities and challenges faced by migrant families and their children. From the sweeping welfare reforms of 1996 to the recent suspension of federal support for migrant student programs, the story is one of shifting priorities, political battles, and the real-world impact on those seeking a better life in America.
Back in 1996, the U.S. Congress passed the Personal Responsibility and Work Opportunity Reconciliation Act (PRWORA), a law designed to, in the words of its drafters, “strengthen the principle that immigrants come to America to work, not to collect welfare benefits.” According to the New York Post, PRWORA instituted a five-year ineligibility period for lawful permanent residents (LPRs) when it came to most federal welfare programs. This was a clear message: new arrivals should not expect immediate access to the social safety net.
Alongside PRWORA, the Illegal Immigration Reform and Immigrant Responsibility Act was also enacted in 1996. This law added another layer of accountability, requiring U.S. citizens and LPRs who sponsored relatives for green cards to sign legally binding affidavits of support. These affidavits obligated sponsors to reimburse taxpayers if their sponsored relatives received welfare benefits. The intention, as outlined by lawmakers at the time, was to prevent sponsored immigrants from relying on public funds.
The political fallout was immediate. President Bill Clinton, who signed PRWORA into law, faced fierce backlash from labor unions, religious groups, and organizations representing women, minorities, and immigrants. The Washington Post reported that the president of the National Organization for Women even threatened political retribution, warning that while some might “hold our noses and vote for President Clinton, many of us will refuse to lift a finger or contribute a penny toward his reelection.” Clinton, pressured by his base, promised to “correct” the parts of the bill that denied federal assistance to legal immigrants.
But with a Republican-controlled Congress, the White House needed a workaround. They found it in the ambiguity of the law itself. PRWORA did not clearly define what constituted a “means-tested public benefit.” Seizing on this loophole, the Clinton administration, with input from then-White House staffer (and future Supreme Court Justice) Elena Kagan, reinterpreted the law. The new policy applied the five-year ineligibility period and the affidavit of support obligation only to “mandatory” federal welfare programs, such as Medicaid and Social Security. This left a range of discretionary welfare programs accessible to migrants, a move that placated many immigration advocates.
Not everyone was pleased. Rep. Lamar Smith, then chairman of the House Subcommittee on Immigration and Claims, expressed his “dismay and disappointment” in a letter to Attorney General Janet Reno, calling the administration’s analysis “utterly lacking in merit and mak[ing] a travesty of statutory interpretation.” He concluded that the reinterpretation “prevents from being fulfilled the promise to the American taxpayer.” Despite these objections, the policy has remained in place for nearly 30 years.
The consequences of this reinterpretation have been significant. Research by Steven Camarota and Karen Zeigler of the Center for Immigration Studies, as cited by the New York Post, found that households headed by aliens—mostly lawful permanent residents—continue to receive welfare benefits at a much higher rate than those headed by native-born Americans. The original intent of the 1996 reforms, critics argue, has not been fully realized.
Fast forward to 2025, and a new front in the debate over migrant support has opened—not in welfare offices, but on college campuses. The College Assistance Migrant Program (CAMP), created in 1972, has long provided vital resources to roughly 2,400 students annually, including internship opportunities, mental health counseling, tutoring, and financial aid. But in June 2025, the U.S. Department of Education notified colleges that funding for CAMP—about $2.4 million over five years—would be halted for the upcoming fall semester, according to NPR.
The Trump administration, in its proposed 2026 budget, criticized migrant education programs as “extremely costly” and claimed they “have not been proven effective.” This abrupt decision left many institutions scrambling. At Millersville University in Pennsylvania, four staff members who administered CAMP were laid off, leaving 21 students on campus without the program’s support. “Until we receive the funding, we can’t continue this year’s program,” explained Lara Willox, the university’s dean of education and human services, in an interview with NPR.
The impact has rippled nationwide. In August, a coalition of colleges, universities, and nonprofit organizations filed a lawsuit against the Trump administration, arguing that since Congress had appropriated the funds, the money should be restored. Katie Covington, president-elect of the National HEPCAMP Association, stated, “The closure of these programs located at trade schools, community colleges, and four-year colleges and universities will mean that nearly 7,000 students throughout the country will not receive the support they need this year.”
On September 10, 2025, a bipartisan group of U.S. senators sent a letter to Education Secretary Linda McMahon and the Office of Management and Budget, urging the release of funds for Fiscal Year 2025. “This funding is necessary to ensure these educational programs provide critical access to educational opportunities for agricultural farmworker students,” the letter read.
The need is clear. In 2022, an estimated 2.9 million workers were engaged in seasonal or migratory farm work, making the transition to college especially challenging for their children. CAMP has a track record of success: Data from the national HEPCAMP organization shows that 76% of students in the program complete their first year, and 96% continue into the second. During the COVID-19 pandemic, retention rates at four-year institutions reached 81%—higher than the national average.
At California State University San Marcos, about 40 students are enrolled in CAMP each year. Over the past decade, roughly 90% completed their first year, and 97% of sophomores returned for their junior year. “It just speaks to the caliber of the work that we do and the support that we give our students,” said Maria Venegas Escobedo, director of CAMP programs at the university.
But with federal funding now suspended, universities are scrambling to find alternative ways to support these students. Financial aid for essentials like books and computers has been cut, and staff layoffs have left students seeking help from other campus offices. “I think we’re going to continue to learn how disruptive this has been as the year goes on,” said Willox of Millersville University.
For students like Sofia Mireles-Gonzalez, a recent graduate of Michigan State University, CAMP was a lifeline. “As the first in my family to get the opportunity to go to college, I want to see that opportunity for others,” she told NPR.
As the debate over migrant access to public benefits and educational support continues, the tension between legislative intent, administrative interpretation, and the lived experiences of migrant families remains unresolved. The stakes are high for thousands of students and their communities, and the outcome of these policy battles will shape the American dream for generations to come.
