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Friday, June 06, 2025

A State's Betrayal: The Dismantling of In-State Tuition for Undocumented Students in Texas, by Angela Valenzuela, Ph.D.

A State's Betrayal: The Dismantling of In-State Tuition for Undocumented Students in Texas

by 

Angela Valenzuela, Ph.D.


CreditJUNE 4, 2025

I am deeply troubled—heartbroken, really—by the news that undocumented students in Texas are no longer eligible for in-state tuition (Klibanoff & Priest, 2025; Vertuno & Lathan, 2025). As someone who was directly involved in the development of this policy—House Bill 1403 in 2001—I see this decision as a moral and political failure of staggering proportions.

These young people are Texans. They’ve grown up here, gone to our public schools, and graduated from our high schools. They have signed affidavits pledging to regularize their status when eligible, just for the chance to pursue higher education. And now, with the stroke of a judge’s pen and a state attorney general who refused to defend a 24-year-old law, we are telling them they don’t belong. That they are undeserving. That their dreams, their labor, and their humanity mean nothing. It is cruel. It is shortsighted. And it is indefensible.

What makes this even more disturbing is the false narrative being pushed by officials like U.S. Attorney General Pam Bondi, who claimed the ruling was necessary to prevent U.S. citizens from being treated like “second-class citizens.” This is a blatant distortion of the truth. In-state tuition for undocumented students does not displace or disadvantage U.S. citizens in any way. 

These students are not receiving a “benefit” that others are denied; they are paying the same tuition as any other Texas resident under a law that has been in place for nearly a quarter-century. No student loses access to college because another is granted a fair shot. To suggest otherwise is to weaponize resentment and obscure the real aim: to exclude, to punish, and to stoke division.

This isn’t just about tuition. It’s about dignity. It’s about who counts, and who doesn’t. The message Texas is sending is one of rejection and disposability. These students, many of whom I’ve known and worked with over the years, are being told their futures don’t matter—not because they’ve failed, but because our political leaders have. This is a textbook case of what I call subtractive schooling—a system that strips away the identities, languages, and aspirations of immigrant youth rather than nurturing and investing in them (Valenzuela, 1999).

And this decision is unfolding within a broader landscape of racialized rhetoric and exclusionary policymaking, where terms like “illegal alien” and “second-class citizen” are deliberately deployed to divide, dehumanize, and distract. The same forces behind the dismantling of DEI, the silencing of Ethnic Studies, the whitewashing of curriculum, and the whitening of Texas colleges and universities are at work here. This isn’t about law and order—it’s about fear of the “other” and the ruthless and hateful exercise of power. 

Let me be clear: this decision isn’t just morally wrong—it’s economically reckless. By stripping undocumented students of access to in-state tuition, Texas isn’t saving money—it’s sabotaging its own future.

Each year, approximately 20,000 undocumented students attend Texas public colleges and universities, collectively paying over $81 million in tuition and fees (Every Texan, 2021). Denying them in-state rates will price many out of higher education entirely. And when enrollment drops, institutions lose the tuition revenue they’ve come to rely on. This loss will hit smaller colleges and regional universities especially hard, exacerbating existing financial strains.

Beyond tuition, higher education is one of the strongest predictors of lifetime earnings and tax contributions. When we deny these students access to college, we also deny the state the economic returns their education would generate. According to the American Immigration Council (2023), rescinding in-state tuition for undocumented students could cost Texas more than $460 million each year in lost wages and spending power. That’s money that won’t be earned, taxed, or spent in our communities.

These students have contributed millions in tuition and gone on to fill critical shortages in fields like education and health care (Klibanoff & Priest, 2025). There are broader ripple effects, too. Without access to higher education, many of these young people will be forced into underemployment or informal labor markets, where they are more vulnerable to exploitation and less able to contribute meaningfully to the economy (Flores, 2010).

Removing their access to higher education undermines not just their futures, but all of ours. And the way it was done—through a backdoor legal maneuver with no real public debate—is an affront to democratic process. This is not leadership. This is cowardice wrapped in legal armor.

But we cannot afford to stay in despair. We must act—boldly, strategically, and in community. This is a moral emergency, and it demands a coordinated, collective response. First, we must continue to come together to build a statewide coalition for immigrant student justice. Students, families, educators, advocacy groups, faith leaders—everyday Texans—must unite in defense of these young people and what they represent. This is a fight for the soul of our state.

We must also pursue every legal pathway available. If the state won’t defend these students, others must. Independent legal challenges, amicus briefs, alliances with organizations like LULAC, MALDEF and the Texas Civil Rights Project—all of these are essential to challenging this ruling in the courts and in the court of public opinion.

At the same time, our colleges and universities must step up. If public dollars are constrained, then institutions must find other ways—private scholarships, emergency funds, tuition relief from unrestricted accounts—to keep undocumented students enrolled and supported. They must show moral courage and commit to student-centered leadership.

Equally important is the work of storytelling. We need to flood the public sphere with the voices of students who have benefited from in-state tuition—those who stayed in Texas, who became teachers, nurses, engineers, and leaders in their communities. These are not abstractions. These are real lives. And the public needs to hear their stories now more than ever.

We also need to look to policy solutions at every level. If Texas has abandoned its responsibility, then cities, counties, and the federal government must act. We need local sanctuary funding, and we need national legislation—starting with the long-overdue passage of a clean DREAM Act. Texas may have failed these students, but we do not have to.

Above all, we must center the students themselves. Their leadership, their voices, and their resilience will guide the way forward. We can support them through teach-ins, legal clinics, wellness resources, and organizing spaces that affirm their power. We must remind them—and ourselves—that they are not alone. They belong. And we will fight for them.

This moment is painful. It is infuriating. However, it is also a call to action. I still believe in the power of people to change the course of history. Above all, we must empower undocumented students themselves to lead this fight. They belong here. Their voices matter. And their dreams are worth defending.

I still believe that Texas can be a place of hope, not fear—a place where every student, regardless of immigration status, has the right to learn, to thrive, and to dream. 

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