TikToker Who Urged Migrants to 'Invade Homes' Deported Under Guard

Paul Riverbank, 3/29/2025Venezuelan TikToker deported after promoting illegal housing schemes and mocking American workers online.
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The Digital Downfall: TikTok Provocateur's Deportation Highlights Modern Immigration Challenges

When Leonel Moreno stepped off the deportation flight at Caracas's Simón Bolívar International Airport last week, it wasn't just another routine removal. The 27-year-old TikTok personality – who'd made a name for himself taunting working Americans and promoting illegal housing schemes – needed special security protection from his fellow deportees.

I've covered immigration stories for two decades, but this one stands out. Here was a man who'd weaponized social media to mock the very country he'd sought refuge in, eventually becoming so notorious that even his fellow Venezuelan deportees wanted nothing to do with him.

"Special security arrangements were necessary from the start," Venezuela's Interior Minister Diosdado Cabello told reporters at a hastily arranged press conference. The other 178 deportees on that flight had apparently made their feelings about Moreno crystal clear.

The story gets more interesting when you dig deeper. Before crossing the Texas border in April 2022, Moreno had reportedly served in Venezuela's military intelligence – though he later downplayed this as basic navy service. Whatever the truth, his subsequent social media career proved far more inflammatory than his military one.

His TikTok videos became a masterclass in how not to seek asylum. "It hurts you because I earn more than you while you work like a slave," he'd boast to his American audience, flashing wads of cash. He'd post detailed instructions about exploiting government benefits and – most controversially – encouraged migrants to "invade abandoned houses."

Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) finally caught up with Moreno in Gahanna, Ohio, this March. He'd failed to meet his reporting requirements – a basic condition of the "catch and release" policy that had initially allowed him into the country. In a twist that surprised exactly no one who'd followed his social media activity, Moreno suddenly cast himself as a victim of persecution.

But here's what makes this case particularly noteworthy: it reveals how social media has transformed the immigration landscape. Twenty years ago, a provocateur like Moreno would have had limited reach. Today, a single TikTok account can influence thousands of potential migrants and shape public opinion on both sides of the border.

Back in Caracas, Minister Cabello is trying to spin these deportations as an "opportunity" for Venezuelans to escape difficult conditions abroad. The reality, as anyone following Venezuela's ongoing crisis knows, is far more complex.

What's clear is that Moreno's case serves as a stark reminder of how immigration enforcement is evolving in our digital age. When someone can build a social media following by essentially providing a how-to guide for breaking immigration laws, it forces us to reconsider how we approach these challenges.

The irony isn't lost on those of us who've long covered immigration: Moreno's digital footprint, meant to showcase his defiance of the system, ultimately led to his removal from it. In an era where everything is documented and shared, perhaps that's the most important lesson of all.