It begins with a question that few used to ask: "What did you post on your Instagram feed – and who might hold it against you?" In the United States of 2025, it has become a serious matter. For many young people from abroad who dream of studying in the U.S., one post – one wrong sentence, one careless link – can determine whether they are granted a visa at all.
Since President Donald Trump began his second term, a new shadow has fallen over immigration policy: expanded social media screening. On May 27, the State Department officially announced that it would intensify its review of social media activity in the context of student visa applications. What exactly is being scrutinized remains unclear. But education experts and advisors are already raising the alarm – and urging students to thoroughly clean up their profiles.
"We go through each new student's social media accounts with them," says Kat Cohen, founder of the admissions consultancy IvyWise. "Anyone who doesn’t hold a U.S. passport needs to be especially cautious. If something comes off as radical or anti-American, it can lead to exclusion."
The measure builds on a notice published in April by U.S. Citizenship and Immigration Services, stating that "antisemitic activity on social media" may serve as grounds for denying a visa. But who defines what counts as "anti-American" or "radical"? In practice, critics fear that even harmless political expressions could become a risk – particularly those related to the wars in Gaza or Ukraine, or topics like abortion, climate action, or human rights.
Mandee Heller Adler, founder of International College Counselors, advises her clients: "Delete everything that is even remotely political." She insists she doesn’t want to silence anyone – but says it’s a simple way for students to protect themselves.
Sasha Chada, head of the Texas-based Ivy Scholars, understands the dilemma. Young people have grown up with Instagram and TikTok – deleting these platforms is like "taking away a piece of their identity." Still, he urges caution.
The measures are already having an effect. Immigration attorney Mahsa Khanbabai, whose firm specializes in student visas, reports that clients are deleting or privatizing their accounts. Conversations are no longer only about legal strategy, she says, but about moral dilemmas: "Are you willing to pause your public engagement on social media to achieve long-term goals like your education and career, knowing that in the short term you may be sacrificing some of your ethical or moral values?"
Some go through with it – gritting their teeth. Others refuse, unwilling to be silent or to smooth things over. But the fear remains – that one too many likes or a retweet could become a liability.
Robert Shibley of the Foundation for Individual Rights and Expression warns of a "chilling effect" – a climate of self-censorship: "If the expanded screening includes political opinions, it will lead many young people to tone down their voices – out of fear of being denied entry to the country."
What remains is the realization that in a nation that once prided itself on freedom of speech, it is precisely the curiosity and openness of young minds that may now become either a passport – or a barrier. And that a simple thought like "I stand for climate action" or "I am against war" can suddenly become a risk. Welcome to America – where freedom can vanish with a single click.
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