By Felicia J. Persaud
News Americas, NEW YORK, NY, Fri. August 14, 2026: I had one of the most disturbing experiences of my life last week, and I’m still mad about it. My primary care physician referred me to an endocrinologist within South Florida’s Memorial Healthcare System for additional testing on my thyroid. Like any patient, I picked up the phone to schedule the appointment. The scheduler asked for my name, my date of birth, and my insurance information. Then came two questions I had never been asked before about my immigration status: “Where were you born?” and “Are you a legal resident or a U.S. citizen?”
I went silent. “Excuse me,” I stated with attitude. “Why do you need that information?”
The young man on the other end of the line became instantly uncomfortable. “I’m sorry, ma’am,” he replied. “It’s the law. We have to ask.”
For a moment, I considered hanging up. Not because I had anything to hide. I am a naturalized United States citizen. But because something about that conversation felt profoundly different and disturbing. Before anyone asked why my doctor wanted me to see a specialist; before anyone asked about my symptoms; before anyone asked about my health, I was being asked about my immigration status and where I was born.
When I got off the phone, I was livid. As an immigration journalist, I was stunned that I had somehow missed a law requiring healthcare providers to ask patients about their immigration status. Or perhaps I forgot or paid little attention because I didn’t think it would impact me.
I immediately began researching it, wondering how something with such significant implications had managed to escape my notice. I learned the appointment scheduler had simply been following Florida law. Since 2023, under Senate Bill 1718, signed into law by Governor Ron DeSantis on May 10, 2023, and effective July 1, 2023, hospitals that receive Medicaid funding are required to ask admitted patients and emergency room visitors about their immigration status during registration. This requirement applies even if you have private insurance.
Of course, medical treatment cannot be denied because of a response, and hospitals are required to tell patients that their individual information will not be reported to immigration authorities. Instead, only anonymous, aggregate data are submitted to the state. The requirement applies to hospitals, not private physicians’ offices or independent clinics, but somehow, because of the doctor’s association with a hospital system, this question is now being asked.
Knowing that did not make the questions feel any less unsettling because laws are not experienced as statutes. They are experienced as conversations. And for many immigrants – documented or undocumented – the first conversation before receiving medical care is no longer simply about health. It may now begin with questions about immigration status.
I found myself wondering if I, as a U.S. citizen, felt uneasy after being asked those questions; how must they feel for someone without citizenship? Or to a lawful permanent resident, a refugee, an asylum seeker, or the parent of a sick child already terrified of drawing attention to their family?
The law says patients may decline to answer, but fear does not always distinguish between what the law requires and what people believe it requires. Researchers have warned about precisely this concern.
A 2024 analysis by KFF found that while Florida’s law requires hospitals to request immigration status, patients retain the right to refuse to answer, and hospitals must continue providing care regardless of a person’s response. Yet the researchers concluded that the requirement – combined with other restrictive immigration policies – would likely increase fear among immigrant families, discourage them from seeking needed medical care, and negatively affect both physical and mental health.
Ironically, the same report notes that immigrants generally use less healthcare than U.S.-born Americans while contributing significantly to the healthcare system through taxes and insurance premiums. The report also found no clear relationship between undocumented patients and uncompensated hospital care in Florida.
Florida’s immigrant workforce is deeply woven into the state’s economy. Non-citizen immigrants make up one-third of Florida’s construction workforce, nearly half of its farming and fishing workforce, and significant portions of its transportation, hospitality and service industries. Many are the same people caring for our elderly, preparing our meals, harvesting our food and helping build our communities.
When those workers become afraid to seek medical care, the consequences extend beyond individual families. Untreated illnesses become medical emergencies. Preventive care becomes delayed care, communicable diseases become harder to detect, and communities become less healthy.
I ultimately answered the questions because I needed the appointment; others may not. Some may postpone seeing a doctor; some may avoid hospitals altogether; some may wait until a manageable illness becomes a medical crisis.
That may never have been the intention of Florida’s law. But history has shown that fear rarely announces itself with handcuffs or headlines. More often, it begins quietly – with a question, hesitation, a second thought. Sometimes it begins with a simple phone call, when a patient seeking medical care is asked about immigration status before anyone ever asks: “How are you feeling?”
EDITOR’S NOTE: Felicia J. Persaud is the founder and publisher of NewsAmericasNow.com, the only daily syndicated newswire and digital platform dedicated exclusively to Caribbean Diaspora and Black immigrant news across the Americas.
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