Face of a Nation: Statue of Liberty Mural Sparks Debate Over Immigration, Identity, and American Ideals
On a brick wall in Roubaix, a city in northern France known for its immigrant communities, the Statue of Liberty covers her face in shame. Painted by Dutch street artist Judith de Leeuw, the towering mural shows not a proud beacon of freedom, but a sorrowful figure, overwhelmed by the state of the world she once promised to illuminate.
Unveiled on July 4 — America’s Independence Day — The Statue of Liberty’s Silent Protest has become an unexpected flashpoint in the ongoing debate over immigration, both in the U.S. and abroad.
“I painted her covering her eyes because the weight of the world has become too heavy to witness,” de Leeuw explained. “The values that the statue once stood for — freedom, hope, the right to be yourself — have been lost for many.”
The mural, and the fury it unleashed, has reignited questions about what Lady Liberty represents today — and who gets to claim her symbolism.
A Symbol, Reimagined
The original Statue of Liberty arrived in the United States in 1885 as a gift from France, intended to celebrate democracy and the end of slavery. If you look closely, you’ll see broken shackles and chains at her feet — a subtle yet powerful reminder of her origins as a post-Civil War monument.
But it wasn’t until poet Emma Lazarus penned her now-famous sonnet The New Colossus in 1883 that the statue began to take on a new meaning — that of a welcoming mother figure for “the tired,” “the poor,” and “the huddled masses yearning to breathe free.” Her words weren’t included in the statue’s dedication, and at the time, immigration wasn’t part of the narrative.
That changed when Ellis Island opened in 1892, right in Lady Liberty’s shadow. Over the next three decades, more than 12 million immigrants passed through, many viewing the statue as their first glimpse of a better life. What began as a gift to mark political freedom had become a deeply personal symbol for millions fleeing persecution and poverty.
Art as Protest, and a Political Lightning Rod
De Leeuw’s mural is not the first time the statue has been used to reflect the contradictions and tensions of American life. But its timing and emotional force have struck a nerve.
Conservative voices, particularly in the U.S., have condemned the piece as unpatriotic and insulting. “This disgusts me,” wrote Tennessee Congressman Tim Burchett on social media. “If any country ought to be kissing our ass, it’s France.”
Others have accused de Leeuw of “Trump Derangement Syndrome” for calling out immigration policies enforced under the former president — including family separations and mass deportations.
De Leeuw, undeterred by the backlash, says she expected the criticism but felt compelled to act. “In a world that feels increasingly unjust, I believe activism is not a choice, but a duty,” she said. “I may never be allowed into the U.S. again, but if that’s the price for doing what I believe is right, so be it.”
A Global Conversation About Belonging
Roubaix, where the mural now towers over a working-class neighbourhood, is home to a large and diverse immigrant population. For de Leeuw, who grew up in multicultural Amsterdam, this context was crucial.
“I was raised in a Moroccan neighbourhood,” she said. “To me, diversity is a gift. It fills our streets with colour, culture, and joy.”
The mural, she added, is not meant to shame America, but to ask difficult questions about whether the ideals symbolized by the statue — liberty, welcome, equality — are still being upheld.
In 1958, then-Senator John F. Kennedy crystallized a powerful and enduring idea with a simple phrase: America is a Nation of immigrants. In his pamphlet of the same name, Kennedy sought to reframe the national conversation around immigration—not as a threat to American identity, but as its very foundation. At a time when restrictive quotas favoured Northern and Western Europeans, Kennedy’s words challenged the status quo, reminding Americans that the country’s strength lies in its diversity and its willingness to welcome those seeking freedom and opportunity. The phrase would go on to shape immigration reform efforts, inspire civil rights advocates, and become a defining part of how the U.S. tells its own story—one that continues to evolve today.
It’s a question that continues to reverberate in U.S. policy. Though the Immigration and Nationality Act of 1965 abolished discriminatory quotas and opened the door to immigrants from across the globe, it also set limits on migration from the Americas — sowing the seeds of today’s southern border crisis.
Liberty, Covered But Not Forgotten
In the end, Judith de Leeuw’s mural is not just about a statue — it’s about the promises that statue is supposed to represent. It's a reflection of the gulf between the image America projects and the realities many face.
“She’s not a warrior,” said Secretary Bunch of the Smithsonian. “But she is powerful.”
And in that power lies vulnerability — because symbols only matter as long as people believe in what they stand for. De Leeuw’s mural, whether seen as a protest or a provocation, is a reminder that the Statue of Liberty’s torch still casts light — but only if we choose to look.