Louisiana’s Immigration Bills Evoke Apartheid. We Cannot Remain Silent.

Louisiana isn’t just passing bad policy. It’s laying bricks in a pathway toward fascism — and elected officials are doing it in broad daylight.

This legislative session, lawmakers in Baton Rouge have been advancing a uniquely harsh combination of anti-immigrant bills. As someone who organizes at the intersections of immigrant justice, racial equity and decarceration, I need people to understand that what’s happening here isn’t about immigration. It’s about control, surveillance and criminalizing compassion.

Consider Senate Bill 15, introduced by Republican State Sen. Jay Morris. This critical bill had a hearing in the House Administration of Criminal Justice Committee on May 28. If passed, it would amend state obstruction of justice and malfeasance in office laws to criminalize any public official or private individual who commits “any act intended to hinder, delay, prevent, or otherwise interfere with” federal immigration enforcement. That could mean refusing to cooperate with Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE). That could mean advocating for a sanctuary city. That could mean doing your job with integrity — and getting charged with a felony. Public employees could face charges for refusing “lawful requests for cooperation” from agencies like ICE, Customs and Border Protection or U.S. Citizenship and Immigration Services. The law would take effect August 1, 2025, if signed into law.

SB 15 mirrors “anti-sanctuary” laws in states like Florida and Texas that compel cooperation with ICE that the federal government often cannot constitutionally demand directly under the 10th Amendment’s anti-commandeering doctrine.

Or take House Bill 554, sponsored by Republican State Rep. Dixon McMakin of Baton Rouge. This bill had a hearing in the Senate Transportation, Highways, and Public Works Committee on May 29, and its path forward is now more defined. This bill would mandate a specific, yet undefined, “restriction code” be placed on state IDs and driver’s licenses issued to lawfully present noncitizens — people legally residing here like refugees, Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals recipients or visa holders, who are already ineligible for licenses if undocumented. It also requires the state mail these individuals an official notice warning them against attempting to vote, a felony offense. This marking might as well say: “second-class human.”

Functionally, HB 554’s restriction code acts like the passbooks of apartheid South Africa or the badges forced upon marginalized groups throughout history. It is a state-mandated tool designed to mark, differentiate and control a specific population, making discrimination against them easier and reinforcing their “otherness.” This marking is distinct from federal REAL ID standards and targets the legally present, not for federal identification purposes, but purely based on noncitizen status.

And these are just two of several bills in a slate targeting immigrants this session. Other critical bills include:

• HB 303 (authored by State Rep. Mike Bayham): This bill, which aims to create a state task force to assist in capturing “fugitives” (critics argue this could broaden state involvement in immigration arrests), also had a hearing in Senate Judiciary B on May 28.
• HB 307 (authored by State Rep. Chance Henry): Having passed the House, this bill is now awaiting formal introduction in the Senate, potentially to be considered soon. It seeks to require state agencies to report immigration status for those seeking public services.
• HB 436 (authored by State Rep. Gabe Firment): This bill would prevent undocumented individuals from recovering noneconomic damages in personal injury cases, such as pain and suffering from a car accident — even if they were not at fault. The bill was sent to the governor for signature on May 28.
• SB 100 (authored by State Rep. Blake Miguez): This bill would require state agencies to collect and report the immigration status of anyone applying for public services. It was considered in the Senate Finance Committee on May 27 and has since advanced to the full Senate for a vote.

In my role at the Louisiana Organization for Refugees and Immigrants (LORI), I’ve heard from families terrified to go to work or school. As political action chair for the NAACP in Baton Rouge and across the state, I see the same story play out over and over — criminalization of existence, wrapped in the language of “law and order.” LORI and other advocates have been actively opposing these measures.

Let me say this plainly: Immigration enforcement is a pillar of the carceral state. It is not broken; it is functioning exactly as designed. These bills weaponize that system further, deputizing local governments into the hands of federal repression. They turn teachers, social workers and public servants into potential enforcers under threat of state criminal charges like malfeasance if they refuse to comply. They target Black and Brown communities with surgical precision.

This is not about “border security.” Louisiana doesn’t have a border with Mexico. This is about sending a message: If you’re not white, not wealthy, not silent — you are expendable. These aren’t isolated acts; they reflect a national playbook pushed by anti-immigrant groups seeking to implement a harsh agenda state by state, using places like Louisiana as testing grounds.

And harsh legislation is not the only thing that distinguishes Louisiana from other states on immigration: It’s where ICE has incarcerated many university scholars and pro-Palestine organizers, including Mahmoud Khalil.

I write this not just as an organizer but as a survivor. I’ve known what it feels like to be discarded by the state, to be failed by every institution that was supposed to protect me. That’s why I fight. That’s why I speak. And that’s why I will never comply with policies that ask us to betray each other to survive.

When the state seeks to criminalize broadly defined “interference” with federal enforcers while simultaneously marking the identity documents of legally present residents based on citizenship, it lays down bricks of control, surveillance and dehumanization — key elements of authoritarianism.

There is another way. One rooted in care, not cages; in sanctuary, not surveillance; in solidarity, not silence. But we won’t get there by being polite. We get there by resisting. By organizing. By calling this what it is: state violence.

Louisiana is a testing ground. If these bills are enacted here, they will be copied across the country. But if we stop them here — if we rise up, call them out and demand something better — we can set a new precedent: that community is not a crime, dignity is not negotiable, and we will not comply.