As Trump Eyes Birthright Citizenship, ‘Birth Tourists’ See Opportunity

The Washington Post

14:16 JST, March 1, 2025

RIO DE JANEIRO – Marcelio Moreira had never been to the United States. He didn’t speak much English. But soon after he learned his wife was pregnant last May, he knew he wanted his daughter to be American.

Speaking with a friend who’d just returned from a trip to the United States with his newborn son – and his son’s American birth certificate – Moreira quickly learned it wasn’t just possible, but surprisingly easy. Anyone born in U.S. territory, he discovered, regardless of their parents’ status, was automatically granted citizenship under the 14th Amendment.

After talking with his wife, Lavínia Naue, 26, they contacted a Florida-based medical service, Have My Baby in Miami, that specializes in delivering babies born to women from abroad. The service connected them to its in-house obstetricians and pediatricians and booked them a slot at the maternity unit at HCA Florida Mercy Hospital. The couple already had U.S. tourist visas. All that was left to do was get on a plane, find a place to stay and wait for their American baby to arrive.

“My daughter’s children and grandchildren will then have citizenship, too,” Naue rejoiced. “She can pass it down through the generations.”

President Donald Trump doesn’t think it should be so easy to become an American. Calling birthright citizenship “absolutely ridiculous,” and incorrectly asserting that “we’re the only country in the world that does this,” he signed an executive order in January that revoked automatic citizenship for children born to foreign visitors on tourist, student and work visas, as well as to undocumented immigrants.

The order, which has been blocked by federal judges and is expected to end up before the Supreme Court, has renewed fundamental questions about what it means to be an American and cast a spotlight on a practice known as “birth tourism.”

Defended by supporters as constitutionally protected, but assailed by critics as a circumvention of the law, the practice of traveling to give birth has generated controversy across the Western Hemisphere, which is home to most of the roughly 30 countries worldwide that grant birthright citizenship.

In 2020, a national scandal erupted in Canada when it emerged that 1 in 4 birthing women at a hospital in British Columbia were foreign visitors. After the war in Ukraine broke out, immigration officials in Argentina moved to stall a wave of thousands of Russian birth tourists entering the country.

The State Department doesn’t keep statistics on birth tourism, but the agency had once estimated that thousands of children are born every year to women on tourist and temporary business visas, according to a 2022 report by the U.S. Senate Committee on Homeland Security and Governmental Affairs.

In the report, officials worried that children born under such circumstances gained citizenship “without attachment to the United States,” skirting the “the scrutiny, standards, and procedures” of standard naturalization. Seeking to limit the practice, the Trump administration in 2020 amended visa regulations to deny temporary visas to travelers coming to deliver a child.

Asked for comment, the State Department press office told The Washington Post on Feb. 24 that birth tourism was not a “permissible activity.”

But in Brazil, where having an American child has become something of a status symbol among the wealthy and upwardly mobile, such measures have done little to quell demand, according to interviews with six birth tourist families, immigration attorneys and birth tourism agents. Even with tighter visa restrictions, pregnant individuals already in possession of U.S. tourist visas – which can be valid for up to 10 years – are still able to freely come and give birth.

Social media in Brazil is awash with stories of families who have done just that. One medical agency active on Instagram, with nearly 74,000 followers, is Have My Baby in Miami, which goes by Ser Mamãe em Miami in Portuguese. Every year, it helps around 125 Brazilian women give birth in the United States. Another agency, MeuBB Americano – My American Baby – has a large photo on its website of an infant asleep beneath an American flag.

“A complete experience for the arrival of your baby in the U.S.,” the agency promises.

Late last year, dreaming of their own American baby, and encouraged by those who’d gone before them, Moreira, 27, and his pregnant wife boarded a plane for New York and whooshed through border control.

“I’m feeling that we’re doing something really good,” the father-to-be said.

A business opportunity

About a decade ago, Florida pediatrician Wladimir Lorentz decided there was opportunity in birth tourism. One agency, Miami Mama, had already cornered the Russian market. But no one was targeting Brazilians.

“When I saw the Russians, I thought, ‘There’s some work for me to do,’” said Lorentz, a native Brazilian and naturalized American.

His company, Have My Baby in Miami, opened in 2015. The service was focused on medical care – connecting international mothers to a multilingual team of care providers – but also gave expectant families information on how to speak to immigration officials and collect U.S. documents after their child’s birth.

Its logo? A stork carrying a child wrapped in an American flag.

The cost – ranging from $16,000 to $23,000, depending on the type of delivery – put the Miami medical services out of reach for the vast majority of Brazilians. But a wealthier clientele soon began lining up, driven by social media, news accounts and word of mouth. Most already had temporary U.S. visas.

“I’ve already attended 2,500 families,” half of whom were from Brazil, Lorentz said.

Leda Oliveira, the CEO of the Washington law firm AG Immigration, which has a focus on Brazilian immigration to the United States, said she was surprised by how quickly the market has grown. Families concerned about Brazil’s economy and long-term security want a Plan B for their children, she said, and U.S. citizenship meant they would always have an escape – along with direct access to America’s educational and professional opportunities.

“I’m now seeing talk of this in both my social life and among clients,” Oliveira said.

Priscila Rodrigues had the idea of becoming a birth tourist when she became pregnant at 39 and, worried about having a child at her age, traveled from Brasília to Orlando to be closer to excellent medical care. The decision, she said, also cleared bureaucratic roadblocks that her daughter could face if she ever decided to relocate to the United States.

“Citizenship is permanent,” she said.

After returning to Brazil with baby Micaela, word spread of her daughter’s American citizenship and she was flooded with inquiries. In late 2023, she and her husband, Artur, 33, decided to open up their own agency, My American Baby. Since then, they’ve received roughly 200 consultation requests.

Many can’t afford their package, which costs a maximum of $8,000. Others don’t have a tourist visa. But with Trump vowing to eliminate birthright citizenship, some want to “seize the moment,” she said.

“There’s a window of opportunity right now.”

‘Our greatest asset’

None of the six birth tourist families interviewed by The Post felt as though they’d abused the U.S. immigration system. They said they’d entered the country legally and paid all their bills.

“I said, ‘Either we do this completely legally, or we don’t do it all,’” said Állan Charles Vieira, 32, who owns eight clothing stores in southern Brazil.

He and his wife, Vanessa, fell in love with the United States during a 2020 trip to New York, where they found the energy and bustle infectious. Strivers by nature, and feeling the draw of the American Dream, the couple said they decided to invest in the United States in the most meaningful way they could: by making their child American. It was a fair exchange, they said.

“We are delivering our greatest asset to the United States,” Vieira said. “We want him to return and bring good things to the United States.”

For Emanuele Monari Neves, 31, who gave birth to her son this week in Miami, the decision was influenced by fear. She wanted her son to be able to study in the United States, but she worried about anti-immigrant sentiment. If he were American, even if he were raised abroad, “he’ll suffer less discrimination,” she believed.

Down the road in Miami, Moreira and his wife, Naue, had checked into a small rental apartment near Mercy Hospital. The journey, they said, hadn’t been easy. Different language, different customs. And now, at one of the most sensitive moments of their lives, they were on the other side of the world, thousands of miles from their home and their support network.

For Moreira, it had been worth it. Born in Brazil’s poorest region, the northeast, he grew up believing “the good things in life weren’t for me.” But after a bit of success in the real estate market, he felt as though he could finally leave his hardships behind.

“I had so many barriers,” he said. “And she’ll be born with fewer.”

Early on the morning of Feb. 20, Naue’s water broke. Moreira took her to Mercy, and by 8 a.m., after a delivery without complications, their daughter was born. Moreira picked her up and held her close.

Lívia, his beautiful little American.