Tennessee lawmakers are correct: good policy begins with good data. But in the debate over HB 793/SB 836, the issue isn't whether data is important. It’s about whether this bill collects data in a way that improves our schools or quietly harms them.
At its core, the legislation requires public schools to verify and report students’ citizenship or immigration status, generating aggregate data for the state. Supporters, including House Majority Leader William Lamberth and Senator Bo Watson, say this is about transparency. Tennessee taxpayers, they argue, deserve a clear understanding of the costs involved in educating all students in the system.
That argument resonates. The government must be accountable. Policymakers should not operate in the dark, and states should not be forced to bear the costs of failed federal immigration policies without understanding the full scope of those costs. However, good intentions do not always result in good policy.
Even in its scaled-back form, this bill puts schools in an uncomfortable and ultimately counterproductive position. Educators are not immigration officers, nor should they be expected to act as de facto extensions of federal enforcement systems. The distinction matters—not just in theory, but in practice. Because in communities across Tennessee, perception often carries as much weight as policy.
If families believe that sharing information with a school could put them at risk of scrutiny—despite guarantees about anonymized data—they might choose not to enroll their children or pull them out entirely. The outcome isn't better data; it's missing students, higher absenteeism, and classrooms disrupted by fear instead of focused on learning.
That outcome would directly conflict with the spirit—and likely the legal boundaries—set in Plyler v. Doe, which confirmed that children should not be denied access to public education based on immigration status. While this bill falls short of outright denial, it approaches territory that could lead to similar effects in practice.
This legislation is likely to become the subject of litigation and may end up back in the Supreme Court. Former Supreme Court Justice Antonin Scalia had argued that Plyler v. Doe was a "legislative" decision that misused judicial power, asserting that education is not a fundamental right and that states have legitimate interests in restricting resources from illegal immigrants.
Steven Calabresi and Lena Barsky argue in their paper "Originalist Defense of Plyler v. Doe"" that the case is grounded in the original meaning of the Fourteenth Amendment as adopted in 1868. They believe that the Fourteenth Amendment grants certain rights, such as life, liberty, and property, to immigrants through the Equal Protection and Due Process Clauses. However, they say these rights do not include the full privileges of citizenship, such as civil rights and the right to vote. They also argue that public education is a right for everyone and is protected under the Due Process and Equal Protection Clauses. This protection was understood at the time of the Fourteenth Amendment's ratification, ensuring that both citizens and immigrants had access to free public education.
This legislation raises two fundamental questions: 1) Is public education a fundamental right? 2) If the goal is improved policymaking, why begin with a policy that overburdens the very system it relies on for data?
Cost remains a concern. Estimates indicate that the first-year expenses for implementation and maintenance could exceed $50 million—an unfunded mandate at a time when schools are already facing staffing shortages, efforts to improve achievement, and increasing operational demands. Even some supporters of stricter immigration enforcement have expressed worries about adding another administrative burden on local districts.
None of this is meant to dismiss the legitimate concerns behind the bill. Tennessee needs clearer insight into how federal immigration policy interacts with state education funding. Lawmakers are right to seek answers instead of relying on assumptions.
But there is a better path. If the state wants reliable data, it should invest in methods that do not risk discouraging school participation or diverting resources from instruction. If it wants accountability, it should ensure that any new requirement to schools or districts comes with funding for implementation and clear safeguards for students and families. And if it wants to lead, it should do so in a way that reflects both fiscal responsibility and the longstanding principle that public education serves every child who walks through the door.
Tennessee can pursue transparency without creating fear. It can demand accountability without overburdening educators. And it can uphold the law while still advocating for change where change is needed.
The line between data collection and unintended consequence is thinner than it appears. On this issue, we would be wise not to cross it. Yet here we are. This legislation may end up in either state or federal court. Soon, taxpayers may want a clear picture of the cost of legislation-driven litigation and implementation. No matter what, we will all watch carefully.
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JC Bowman is the executive director of Professional Educators of Tennessee.