Texas Rep. Gill Calls for Sweeping 25-Year Ban on Somali Immigration

Paul Riverbank, 2/5/2026Texas lawmaker urges 25-year Somali immigration ban, igniting fierce debate on fraud, integration, and policy.

Gill insists he isn’t aiming simply to put up another wall, but to address what he describes as a “broken system.” Drawing from headlines in Minnesota, he cites a high-profile fraud investigation that’s dominated local and national reporting since winter. In that case, government benefit programs—meant to feed children and support struggling families—became a conduit for theft. Authorities allege billions in state and federal dollars vanished in a web of phony documentation, and several suspects come from Minnesota’s Somali immigrant population.

It wasn’t only local deputies involved. Nick Shirley, an independent journalist, was among the first to raise alarms. His reporting made the leap from Twin Cities blogs to cable news, fueling questions far beyond Minnesota’s borders. For Rep. Gill and bill supporters, this case isn’t an anomaly; they claim it highlights deeper problems with assimilation and public trust.

Numbers are quickly cited: according to research published by the Center for Immigration Studies, a large portion of Somali immigrant households in the U.S.—81 percent, by their count—draw on welfare programs. Medicaid usage is also high, near three-quarters, while more than half use SNAP benefits. These data points, though debated by critics, provide kindling for the legislation’s advocates.

But the proposed law stops short of blanket enforcement. Somalis already living in the United States would see no change in their status; permanent residents and those with diplomatic or international visas remain unaffected. The moratorium would only apply to future arrivals—newcomers looking to start fresh here after the bill’s passage.

In Texas, especially around Dallas, Gill’s language becomes blunter. “We’ve got a massive problem,” he asserted recently, his statements laced with concern about cultural integration and public safety. Tensions flare, in part, from local worries: some Dallas residents express unease about unfamiliar religious observances, with the Muslim call to prayer cited as an example. Gill does not hide his discomfort, saying, “They don’t want Sharia law in their communities, in their state, in this country, in any way whatsoever.”

Alongside those claims, bill proponents highlight statistics on education and language skills as evidence that assimilation has hit a wall. More than a third of Somali adults, they point out, don’t have a high school diploma. After ten years in the States, half reportedly don’t speak English very well—a gap that, critics argue, stalls economic and social progress.

Yet, for all the bill’s support among Republicans, pushback has been immediate and fierce. Democratic lawmakers and a range of advocacy groups warn that targeting a specific nationality in such a broad way risks stoking fear rather than fostering solutions. In their minds, fraud and welfare misuse are problems to be tackled wherever they arise—not pinned to a single community. “We’re playing with fire,” one Minnesota congresswoman cautioned during a recent hallway interview, “if we start writing blanket bans instead of reforms.”

This is hardly the first time Texas officials have tried to address fraud by tightening immigration law. Senator Ted Cruz and his colleague John Cornyn brought forward a bill a year ago that would make certain types of benefit fraud a deportable crime—a narrower solution, but one in the same vein. Now, Gill is betting that a sweeping pause might stave off new scandals before they take root.

Supporters say the numbers speak for themselves; critics cry foul, warning of discrimination. Meanwhile, the bill itself sits in committee, awaiting further hearings. The national conversation, as ever, is more sprawling: since 1965, over seventy million newcomers have made the U.S. home, a story of both flourishing communities and persistent growing pains.

What’s not in dispute is that the issue has touched a raw nerve. Those in favor of the moratorium talk about “restoring sovereignty” and “putting citizens first.” Opponents urge Congress to address the root of fraud and neglect the temptation to draw lines around nationality.

As votes loom, those watching—lawmakers, local leaders, citizens old and recent alike—wonder if this moment will mark a turning point or simply another round in an argument as old as the Republic itself.

It’s not every day a lawmaker throws down the gauntlet quite so openly as Rep. Brandon Gill did in Washington this week. The Texas congressman electrified the ongoing immigration debate, proposing a 25-year freeze on new arrivals from Somalia—a sweeping halt he calls the Somalia Immigration Moratorium Act. In the crowded halls of Congress, that sort of headline grabs attention, but so does the reasoning he’s put forward.Gill insists he isn’t aiming simply to put up another wall, but to address what he describes as a “broken system.” Drawing from headlines in Minnesota, he cites a high-profile fraud investigation that’s dominated local and national reporting since winter. In that case, government benefit programs—meant to feed children and support struggling families—became a conduit for theft. Authorities allege billions in state and federal dollars vanished in a web of phony documentation, and several suspects come from Minnesota’s Somali immigrant population.It wasn’t only local deputies involved. Nick Shirley, an independent journalist, was among the first to raise alarms. His reporting made the leap from Twin Cities blogs to cable news, fueling questions far beyond Minnesota’s borders. For Rep. Gill and bill supporters, this case isn’t an anomaly; they claim it highlights deeper problems with assimilation and public trust.Numbers are quickly cited: according to research published by the Center for Immigration Studies, a large portion of Somali immigrant households in the U.S.—81 percent, by their count—draw on welfare programs. Medicaid usage is also high, near three-quarters, while more than half use SNAP benefits. These data points, though debated by critics, provide kindling for the legislation’s advocates.But the proposed law stops short of blanket enforcement. Somalis already living in the United States would see no change in their status; permanent residents and those with diplomatic or international visas remain unaffected. The moratorium would only apply to future arrivals—newcomers looking to start fresh here after the bill’s passage.In Texas, especially around Dallas, Gill’s language becomes blunter. “We’ve got a massive problem,” he asserted recently, his statements laced with concern about cultural integration and public safety. Tensions flare, in part, from local worries: some Dallas residents express unease about unfamiliar religious observances, with the Muslim call to prayer cited as an example. Gill does not hide his discomfort, saying, “They don’t want Sharia law in their communities, in their state, in this country, in any way whatsoever.”Alongside those claims, bill proponents highlight statistics on education and language skills as evidence that assimilation has hit a wall. More than a third of Somali adults, they point out, don’t have a high school diploma. After ten years in the States, half reportedly don’t speak English very well—a gap that, critics argue, stalls economic and social progress.Yet, for all the bill’s support among Republicans, pushback has been immediate and fierce. Democratic lawmakers and a range of advocacy groups warn that targeting a specific nationality in such a broad way risks stoking fear rather than fostering solutions. In their minds, fraud and welfare misuse are problems to be tackled wherever they arise—not pinned to a single community. “We’re playing with fire,” one Minnesota congresswoman cautioned during a recent hallway interview, “if we start writing blanket bans instead of reforms.”This is hardly the first time Texas officials have tried to address fraud by tightening immigration law. Senator Ted Cruz and his colleague John Cornyn brought forward a bill a year ago that would make certain types of benefit fraud a deportable crime—a narrower solution, but one in the same vein. Now, Gill is betting that a sweeping pause might stave off new scandals before they take root.Supporters say the numbers speak for themselves; critics cry foul, warning of discrimination. Meanwhile, the bill itself sits in committee, awaiting further hearings. The national conversation, as ever, is more sprawling: since 1965, over seventy million newcomers have made the U.S. home, a story of both flourishing communities and persistent growing pains.What’s not in dispute is that the issue has touched a raw nerve. Those in favor of the moratorium talk about “restoring sovereignty” and “putting citizens first.” Opponents urge Congress to address the root of fraud and neglect the temptation to draw lines around nationality.As votes loom, those watching—lawmakers, local leaders, citizens old and recent alike—wonder if this moment will mark a turning point or simply another round in an argument as old as the Republic itself.