To say that the second Trump administration has hypercharged immigration enforcement is an understatement. During its first year, deportations increased fivefold, according to the Deportation Data Project. From the president’s inauguration on Jan. 20, 2025, to mid-March, more than 6,200 children have been in detention, including babies. ICE is expanding the places where it arrests people — courts during routine check-ins, airports, churches. The administration also tried to strike down birthright citizenship via executive order but was rebuffed by the Supreme Court. Given this climate — and the 250th anniversary of the nation that prides itself on being the “land of the free, home of the brave” — we asked immigrants to the United States how they perceive the Fourth of July.
The question comes in the tradition of the abolitionist Frederick Douglass, who in 1852 famously asked, “What, to the American slave, is your Fourth of July?” (His answer included “mere bombast, fraud, deception and hypocrisy.”)
Here’s how 11 immigrants answered a variation of Douglass’ question: “What, to the immigrant, is your Fourth of July?” Their answers have been edited for length and clarity, and some have been translated into English.
1. Awo Sarpong Ansu
Sarpong Ansu immigrated from Ghana with her parents when she was 4 years old. An American citizen, she practices law in the Washington, D.C., area.
Frederick Douglas rightfully asked, “What, to the American slave, is your Fourth of July?” powerfully exposing the gap between America’s ideals and its reality. That gap continues to exist. America has never fully lived up to its promises of liberty, equality and justice. Yet those promises are what inspire so many immigrants like my family to come here.
So what does the Fourth of July mean to me as an immigrant in 2026? It represents both hope and disappointment. It reminds me of the promise that brought my family here, but also of the fear that the country is drifting even further from that promise. Like many immigrants, I still believe in the ideals that drew my family to America. But there is much work to be done to turn that hope into more of a reality.
2. Viles Dorsainvil
Dorsainvil is a Haitian immigrant currently seeking asylum in the U.S. Based in Springfield, Ohio, he is the co-founder and executive director of the nonprofit Haitian Community Help and Support Center. Like more than 350,000 Haitians and roughly 6,800 Syrians, his Temporary Protected Status was revoked by the Trump administration in June.
In Ronald Reagan’s [final presidential speech], he said [something like], ‘When you go to Japan, you’re not Japanese; when you’re in France, you’re not a Frenchman; but when you’re in America, you’re an American.’ Barack Obama also had the same message.
And how are you American? By your contributions, by what you bring to the table, by the work you do, by being a taxpayer pursuing the American dream. But what we see now is that if you’re an immigrant, you can do all of that — you can come here and work and make contributions — but you don’t have the same rights. So in that context, July 4 does not mean anything for the immigrant community.
Past presidents gave us this idea that citizenship was not a matter of ethnicity, but based on what you bring to the country. This administration treats people based on where you’re from and the language you speak. And you are being scapegoated by the fact that you speak English with an accent, or they just believe that you’re not part of “us.” So they call you “the other.” That does not reflect the Fourth of July.
3. Dilmer Lovos
Lovos is a trans woman who migrated from El Salvador at 12. She obtained permanent residency but lost it after entering the criminal justice system. ICE arrested Lovos in January 2024. This past March, due to what she calls unbearable conditions at multiple immigrant confinement facilities, she voluntarily returned to El Salvador. She is currently working in customer service.
The Fourth of July is a day to remember that freedom can be gained, especially since the very foundation of the United States was based on immigration. A lot of people are running [there] due to political reasons, so the Fourth of July, to me as an immigrant, [represents] freedom.
But at the same time [the U.S.] needs a more humane approach because there are people that are dying, people that are sick, [and] people that are not being given the proper medical care inside immigration detention centers. Even though these individuals have the possibility to be out in the community to pay for their own insurance, their own medical services, or their own medicines, the government chooses to just keep people in immigration detention centers separated from their families [and] separated from their communities. Still, the Fourth of July represents freedom. It represents a reminder that no matter how many years pass by, [America] needs to evolve, as a nation [and] as human beings.
4. Latif Hafraoui
Hafraoui spent nearly four months in immigrant confinement after ICE arrested him in August 2025. Originally from Morocco, Hafraoui had lived in the U.S. for 38 years and was working as a black car driver in New York City with a valid work authorization. He and his wife, a U.S. citizen, live in New Jersey.
When I was in detention, I felt like I had no rights. They treat you like you have no rights at all. I had a case pending, and they tried to deport me. They didn’t care; they just wanted to get rid of me. The guards, they were just like the Nazis.
This 250th birthday could have been great. It could have been great if it wasn’t for what is going on right now. We used to talk freely. We used to have freedom of speech. Now, I’m afraid to critique even on Facebook. People from all over the world have come here because America has freedom, unlike many other countries. It’s going to be hard for America to come back to the way it was before.
[But] of course my wife and I are [still] going to celebrate the Fourth of July with a lot of friends like we usually do. My wife and I have a tradition. We both have a T-shirt that says 1776. We live on the 10th floor and have a view of New York and Staten Island. We sit by the window and have a glass of wine or a few beers, and we watch the fireworks wearing that T-shirt.
5. Nelson
Nelson, who is going by his first name due to his undocumented status, is a roofer from Honduras. He has lived in the U.S. for three years. In 2025, police in suburban St. Louis pulled him over for allegedly driving a work van without proper flagging on the ladders. He was issued municipal tickets and quickly released without ICE involvement. He said in Spanish:
Independence Day is the most important summer holiday in the country — a day when we can spend time with family and friends. It is worth celebrating that we live in a country where there are many opportunities, regardless of what we experience on a daily basis. Not everyone welcomes us, but here, we are all equal, regardless of the color of our skin.
6. Leqaa Kordia
Kordia was held in ICE custody for more than a year after protesting for Palestinian rights. The 33-year-old says more than 200 relatives were killed by Israel in Gaza. Kordia had been living in the United States for nearly a decade when she was detained during what she thought was a routine immigration check-in. She grew up in the West Bank and moved to the United States to be with her American mother. While in custody, she was hospitalized for a seizure. Kordia was released in March.
In 2016, I arrived [in the U.S.] with a heart full of hope. I believed in the American mythos, that this was the land of opportunities, of due process, of a Constitution that everyone follows. I thought that if you worked hard, respected the law, and spoke your truth, you would be protected and respected.
Now I see the U.S. government as a system that writes beautiful poetry about freedom while manufacturing the bombs that killed my cousins and building the dungeons that traumatized my brain and body. The same surveillance tech used to target Palestinians is piloted by the agencies that target thousands of immigrants. The same “rule of law” that justifies settlements in the West Bank justified my indefinite imprisonment. While Americans will watch fireworks, I will be thinking of the deportation order hanging over my head.
Despite it all, I’m still hopeful and motivated by the humanity of the American people, who have protested in the streets by the millions, and are speaking out for justice for all immigrants and freedom for Palestinians.
7. Armande Namegni
Namegni is from Cameroon. She has been in the U.S. since 2022 with an asylum case. In January, she was taken into ICE custody during a routine check-in and has been detained in Missouri ever since.
I came to the U.S. because I was fleeing from political persecution. [I was] raped, beaten, placed in a cell with males naked and burned with an iron. I fled and [eventually landed] in America. In late January, I was taken [into ICE custody] and placed in the Phelps County Jail. It was not a good place. Recreation time was only open three times a week when we had a happy CO and never when they were mad. Medication took at least two weeks when we placed a sick call, and people of color like me were treated very differently.
At the Greene County Jail, where I went in April, I was placed in a violent offender pod. With more than six people in a cell, we [only] get six [toilet] flushes per hour that we use or lose. Also, if something happens in the other pods, we all lose our rec time and stay locked down.
Still, I stay hopeful with the support of my coworkers, friends, fianceé, family and, above all, the Almighty God. I work out and pray to keep my mind out of thinking [the worst]. That’s why when I think about the Fourth of July, I think [about] more than fireworks and celebrations. I think about hope to fully experience the opportunities and sense of belonging that America represents. America is still the land of the brave and free. One day I know I will be part of that no matter how long it takes.
The U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) Office of Public Affairs and the Phelps County Sheriff's Department did not respond to questions about recreation time, cell capacity, and other policies in Missouri’s Phelps County and Greene County jails.
8. Katiuska Leal
Leal sought asylum at the U.S.-Mexico border in 2022 with her husband and two small children after they fled economic collapse and a repressive regime in Venezuela. Leal says they’ve complied with U.S. immigration laws, laboring with work permits granted by the Biden administration in laundries and hotel housekeeping and for Amazon and delivery apps. They live in Washington, D.C. She said in Spanish:
We’re trying to do everything right, but if it doesn’t work out, we’re going to have to move away. Paying an attorney costs so much, you know. You’ve got to have a good attorney to show that you deserve to stay. I wouldn’t want to return to my country.
When I came to this country, I came with so much happiness. I came because I wanted my children to live a better life than they could where we were. At this moment, I feel very sad and insecure.
Anywhere in the world, people will say that this is the land of opportunity — but that’s a lie. I’m not complaining because I have lived and seen [beautiful] things like New York, which is super spectacular. But right now, it makes me sad because I don’t know what can happen tomorrow.
I still believe this is an excellent country. With a good job, you can achieve many things. But with everything happening, I feel like I don’t belong here. I respect the [authority] of the president. If he was elected with his hard line and cold heart, we’re collateral damage, and we can’t do anything about it.
9. Adama Bah
At age 16, Bah, a Muslim Guinean, was detained by ICE for overstaying her visa. Before her six-week confinement, she believed she was a U.S. citizen. While in ICE custody, she also learned that the FBI suspected her of being a suicide bomber. Bah was only released after lawyers, activists and even a U.S. congressman appealed to ICE. Her father wasn’t as fortunate; he was deported to Guinea. Today she is founder and executive director of a peer-to-peer advocacy group called Afrikana.
Before I was detained at 16, my view of July 4 was probably similar to that of many kids growing up in America. It was about barbecues, spending time with family and watching fireworks. Being detained and watching my father be deported absolutely changed my perspective. It was one of the most painful experiences of my life. I learned firsthand that systems can cause tremendous harm and that rights and protections are not always applied equally.
I also saw firsthand what it meant to be a Black Muslim young woman in America. During one of the darkest moments of my life, many of the first people who came to my aid were Black Muslims. They stood by me because they believed in my innocence and refused to let me be defined by the accusations made against me. [...] While I hate what happened to me and my family, I refused to let that experience define me. Instead, it strengthened my commitment to challenge injustice and fight for a system that treats people with dignity and fairness.
10. Mauro Alvarado
Alvarado is an electrician and dual citizen of the U.S. and Mexico. He mainly grew up in Laredo, Texas, and now lives close by in Nuevo Laredo, Mexico. On most days, he crosses the international bridge and heads to a U.S. jobsite. In February, while fishing in the Rio Grande River, U.S. Border Patrol agents stopped him for more than 30 minutes. Since that incident, he says immigration officials direct him to secondary questioning each time he crosses the border.
I am both Mexican and American. The Fourth of July is just a regular day. I appreciate the troops for giving us independence, for giving [us] freedom. I just don’t celebrate it. But anybody has a chance to become something here. It’s not like in Mexico where you have to have a family member inside a job to give you that job. Here in the U.S., it is equal. Everything is equal here.
11. Zuhdi Masri
Masri is a Palestinian-American who grew up in a Muslim family in East Jerusalem. In the early 1980s, he moved to the U.S. and became a citizen. Before retiring, he ran a corner store in north St. Louis and was active in the community.
The Fourth of July 4 means independence. You have your freedom to do whatever you like, unlike many others under occupation in the Middle East. So what you feel here, you feel free and proud. You can start your car in New York, end up in San Diego or San Francisco, and nobody will ask you, “Where the hell are you going?” or “What’s your name?”
I have seen [inland U.S. Border Patrol checkpoints] in California and Arizona. You just stand by, really. You get stopped, they ask, “Are you a U.S. citizen?" and then you keep on going. It’s not even a line for two minutes, unlike military posts in the Middle East.
But under Trump, they are not doing what they are supposed to do. Immigration enforcement is a disaster for the economy and for people who are seeking freedom [and] justice. But this is temporary. When the new administration comes, they are going to go back to normal. They are going to welcome refugees again. And immigrants. The United States is going to be back again. We are going to make it great again.