ALLOW ME TO TAKE YOU BACK FIFTEEN YEARS. Back then, “comprehensive immigration reform” was the phrase on everyone’s lips in Washington and the entire liberal and Democratic infrastructure was on board—save a cadre of young undocumented activists. That group was known as Dreamers, undocumented youth brought to the country as children. They were seen as incredibly sympathetic and American in everything but “a piece of paper,” as then-President Barack Obama often put it.

But they also were more pugnacious than their predecessors in the immigration rights community. They’d gone from being ornamental parts of the immigration reform conversation to young activists with agency within it. They saw comprehensive immigration reform as a noble goal that would help their parents, family, and friends. But they also sensed that it was going nowhere. Many had come to believe there was political room to pass a Dream Act, which would get the ball rolling by helping hundreds of thousands of immigrants. Their agitation ran afoul of established immigration groups who privately chastised them for impatience and selfishness.

Still, many Dreamers plowed forward.

Some became well known in the process. Gaby Pacheco led the Trail of Dreams, a 1,500-mile walk from Miami to Washington, D.C. along with other Dreamers. Erika Andiola became a leader in the fight in Arizona over its draconian immigration law, SB 1070.

Now in 2025, with a president in office pushing a nationalized approach to immigration that mirrors the crackdown that took place in Arizona, a new cohort of advocates is assuming the chief advocacy roles once more.

Flor Martinez Zaragoza, 29, a DACA recipient recognizable by her eyeliner and her black shirt in Spanish with “IMMIGRANT” crossed out in favor of “INDIGENOUS,” has become an heir to the Dreamers of the Obama era. A farmworker at the age of 14, she gained prominence during the pandemic when she helped tell the stories of fellow farmworkers battling raging wildfires, their throats hurting and their employers refusing to provide them masks. An Instagram video she shared as wildfires swept through Salinas, California, received 382,000 views. Later, she began a GoFundMe, which turned into her nonprofit, Celebration Nation; it raised $650,000 in 2020 for masks for farmworkers and school supplies for their children.

With Trump back in power, Martinez Zaragoza has continued her work. As devastating wildfires again swept through California, she shared a video of farmworkers in fields of green produce backed by an angry orange, smoke-filled sky. The video featured the caption “Fire and I.C.E. chasing them and they still show up to feed you.” Set against an emotional Bad Bunny song, the video racked up 7.5 million views.

Her @FlowerInSpanish handle now has 368,000 followers on Instagram and 139,000 on TikTok.

“I know how much work and sacrifice goes into feeding this country as its lowest-paid labor force,” Martinez Zaragoza, who is from San Jose, told The Bulwark. She recalled how she used to pick grapes for California wineries. “They feed all of us, yet they get disrespected and dehumanized so it’s important we change the narrative. It’s harsh on their bodies, but is very skillful work, you have to know the plant.”

She sees herself as a defender of farmworkers.

“They need us to protect them because this country doesn’t protect them, their employers don’t, politicians say they do, but it’s just talk,” she said.

Martinez Zaragoza’s work illustrates the generational handoff of immigration advocacy. Gone are the days when backroom negotiations among lawmakers were the centerpiece of the immigration debate. In its place is an on-the-ground, social-media-intensive approach that was first being popularized fifteen years ago.

As I interviewed her Wednesday night, Martinez Zaragoza told me she was protesting outside an ICE detention center, which was holding Yolanda Perez, a woman detained with her son in El Monte, California. While her son has a criminal history, Perez is the primary caregiver for her daughter with bone cancer.

Martinez Zaragoza acknowledges that her appearance as a striking young indigenous woman is part of her appeal. As are the videos she posts, like the ones of her dancing to Kendrick Lamar’s “Not Like Us.” She has an authenticity and a connection with a young audience that is hard to fake.

“I know how to draw people in, a lot of the time it’s music and dance,” she said.

Susie Plascencia, 35, the founder of Latinas in Cannabis and cofounder of Mota Glass, who got to know Martinez Zaragoza through farmworker advocacy, says lots of established groups do great work but they can’t reach the younger audience.

“She’s driving a lot of the same points big organizations highlight, but doing it in a way the next generation understands and connects with,” Plascencia told The Bulwark. “Young people want to come to protests, to be loud and be organized, but they don’t know how. She puts graphics up and leads direct action. Speaking the language of social media, the language of angst and injustice, she’s got that down.”

But being conversant in social media is just one ingredient of her success. Like the first generation of Dreamer advocates, Martinez Zaragoza is impatient and determined. Her audience, she says, empathizes with how she treats the current moment.

“Charm, but also being unapologetic,” she said of her appeal. “It’s almost like a rose. Pretty, but also has thorns. I lead with love, but don’t mess with my community.”

WHEN REPORTS EMERGED OF VENEZUELAN criminals being sent to Guantánamo Bay, Carlos Eduardo Espina, a 26-year-old immigration activist and social media influencer, jumped on TikTok to broadcast the news to his 12.3 million followers. One of the detainees shipped to the naval base on Cuba was Luis Alberto Castillo, whose sister contacted Espina to explain that her brother was not a gang member or a criminal of any kind. Espina quickly posted an update about the Castillo situation. Thus began a series of events that led to this New York Times story about how a man who had committed no crime was being treated like a terrorist captive.

Espina has since acted as a middleman for other journalists seeking to connect with the family members of other Venezuelan Guantánamo detainees, many of whom cheered as the resulting attention and legal scrutiny eventually led to the men being sent back to Venezuela.

Espina became interested in the topic of immigration when he helped his mother study for her U.S. citizenship test. His earliest TikTok videos in 2020 and 2021 gained popularity because no one else was sharing citizenship information in Spanish on the platform. As his audience grew, his followers asked him to share more information on other immigration topics, and he found his voice, which could be described as a serious newsman tone often accompanied by “Noticia de Ultima Hora”—or “News Flash.”

Espina backed Joe Biden in 2020 but became disillusioned with the administration’s immigration policy. He organized a “Day Without Immigrants” protest in 2022 after a suggestion from a commenter. Though he was using only his social media platforms to promote the event, he estimates 2,000 to 3,000 people showed up on the bitterly cold Valentine’s Day in Washington, D.C.

The Biden administration invited Espina to take part in immigration meetings last year, and he eventually partnered with the Biden White House for a video last June announcing an executive order establishing parole-in-place for the undocumented spouses of U.S. citizens. The program, which would have helped 550,000 people apply for a green card, was later halted by a federal judge in Texas. In the video announcing Biden’s order, which has 20 million views, Espina became emotional as he said that while he is a U.S. citizen, he has friends with college degrees who are not.

The Biden administration was thrilled by the video.

“They were like ‘Damn, this is the best piece of content we have shared this whole administration,’” Espina told The Bulwark.

Pablo Manríquez, the editor of Migrant Insider, said the young influencer from Texas shows that while news is downstream of culture, it can go the other way, too.

“Because Carlos has this platform, his magnetism draws sources to him who are invaluable to the press,” Manríquez said. As Trump gave his speech to Congress this week, Manríquez interviewed Espina at the U.S. Capitol and walked with him in Washington.

“You couldn’t make it five feet without a lawmaker wanting to do a video with him or a caterer coming out and saying ‘Oh my god, is that you?’”

Like Luka Dončić calling for an iso in the NBA, let’s clear out for some racism from the National Republican Campaign Committee. The House GOP campaign arm called the chairman of the Congressional Hispanic Caucus, Rep. Adriano Espaillat, an “illegal immigrant” after his Spanish-language response to Trump’s speech to Congress.

The post was roundly and rightfully condemned by the CHC, which said in a tweet that the “xenophobic rhetoric” from Trump Republicans shows you can follow the law, become a citizen, get elected to Congress, swear multiple oaths to the Constitution, and still just be an “illegal immigrant” to them.

“Whoever is the intern @NRCC who tweeted this racist shit needs to be fired,” added Sen. Ruben Gallego (D-Ariz.), while House Minority Leader Hakeem Jeffries (D-N.Y.) called the people who posted it “disgusting.”

In a joint press release, major immigration and Latino leaders including America’s Voice, the Hispanic Federation, Latino Victory Fund, LULAC, Mi Familia Vota, UnidosUS, Voto Latino, and Poder Latinx condemned the post, calling it a vile attack that was dangerous, dehumanizing, and wrong. They demanded an apology. Don’t hold your breath.

The Washington Post’s Sabrina Rodríguez and Marianna Sotomayor covered the embarrassment, with Espaillat, who’s been a U.S. citizen for over forty years, adding: “I think it further explains that anybody that doesn’t look like them they consider to be an illegal. It’s tragic.”