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immigration detention
The Dead and the Dying in Trump's American Gulag
A system of concentration camps is being built and it's time the nation reckon with this monstrosity before any more people are killed.
Mar 24, 2026
The March 4, 2026, edition of the Arizona Daily Star put the facts succinctly: “A Haitian asylum seeker held for four months at Florence Correctional Center died Monday at a Scottsdale hospital due to complications from an infected tooth.” It seems the infection spread from his tooth to his lungs, and he developed the pneumonia that killed him.
In other words, U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) allowed a prisoner to die of a toothache. His name was Emmanuel Damas. He was 56 years old and the father of two.
And we can only expect medical treatment at ICE centers to deteriorate further. As Judd Legum at Popular Information reported in January 2026:
“ICE… has not paid any third-party providers for medical care for detainees since October 3, 2025. Last week, ICE posted a notice on an obscure government website announcing it will not begin processing such claims until at least April 30, 2026. Until then, medical providers are instructed ‘to hold all claims submissions.’”
Emmanuel Damas’s unnecessary death would be outrageous enough, were it the only one of its kind. In fact, 32 people died in ICE custody during 2025, the most in two decades. Another six died in January 2026 alone, among them Geraldo Lunas Campos, a Cuban father aged 55, at Camp East Montana detention center in El Paso, Texas.
Although ICE initially claimed Lunas Campos had attempted suicide, the American Immigration Council reports that “the El Paso County Medical Examiner ruled his death was a homicide arising from asphyxia due to neck and torso compression.” Of course, it’s pretty hard to strangle yourself to death. Witnesses, however, described his murder this way: “Mr. Lunas Campos was handcuffed, while at least five guards held him down and one guard squeezed his neck until he was unconscious.” At least one other man has died at the Camp East Montana detention center, where tuberculosis and measles are also spreading.
Damas and Lunas Campos were among the roughly 73,000 people whom ICE currently holds in a tangle of detention camps sprawled across the country. And more centers are under construction. Many of them are former warehouses designed to function, as ICE acting director Todd Lyons put it last year, “like Amazon Prime for human beings.” (Like many Trump appointees, Lyons has not received Senate confirmation. His actual title, according to ICE, is “Senior Official Performing the Duties of the Director of U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement.”)
What Is a Concentration Camp?
Taken together, this network of prisons or, more accurately, concentration camps, constitutes an American gulag. “Gulag” is not so much a word as a Russian initialism that came to stand for the Soviet Union’s concentration camp program, originally developed under Joseph Stalin. The term stands for “Main Directorate of Correctional Labor Camps” and originally referred to the officials running the camps. Later, “gulag” came to indicate the camps themselves, which were a central instrument of Soviet political repression. Most Americans first learned about those camps through Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn’s 1973 internationally bestselling memoir, The Gulag Archipelago.
As Andrea Pitzer, author of One Long Night: A Global History of Concentration Camps, has written, such institutions are a relatively recent phenomenon. While human beings have long contrived ways to isolate groups they identify as enemies — for example, in the enclosed Jewish ghettos of medieval Europe — the modern concentration camp evolved thanks to two key inventions: barbed wire and the machine gun. That pair of technological advances made it possible for a small number of guards to control and contain a large number of people in one place.
Concentration camps have a number of defining features:
- Concentration camps exist outside regular legal structures. The people they hold are not prisoners, but detainees. So, we find people of all ages, from infants to ancients, in concentration camps. In most cases, they have not been tried or convicted of any crime. Rather, they are held because of their status, for example, as non-citizens, or in the case of Japanese-American citizens imprisoned during World War II, because of their ethnicity or national origin. This is true for the people held in ICE detention today. Their alleged offenses are against U.S. civil, not criminal law, and their detention exists outside of any court system, including the immigration courts run by the Department of Justice’s Executive Office for Immigration Review. Immigration judges, who are really administrative employees, can’t order anyone detained. That’s up to ICE and its umbrella agency, the Department of Homeland Security (DHS).
- Concentration camp inmates are civilians, not soldiers, which places them conveniently outside the strictures of the Geneva Conventions. That’s why the U.S. has never recognized the men it has held and, in the case of 15 prisoners, continues to hold as prisoners of war in the U.S. prison at Guantánamo Bay, Cuba. In the 1990s, almost a decade before the naval station at Guantánamo was first used to house detainees in the “global war on terror,” the U.S. held immigrants there, including as many as 50,000 Haitians and Cubans. Trump’s January 29, 2025, executive order entitled “Expanding Migrant Operations Center At Naval Station Guantánamo Bay To Full Capacity” directed the Defense and Homeland Security departments to prepare to hold as many as 30,000 migrant detainees there. As of July 2025, the camp held detainees from Africa, Asia, Europe, and the Caribbean.
- Concentration camps are associated with authoritarian regimes. They function both as a direct form of repression and, no less importantly, as a warning to the rest of the population about what could happen to those who resist the regime. In this sense, concentration camps are very much like another tool of repression, institutionalized state torture, about which I wrote in my book Mainstreaming Torture. Like state torture, concentration camps perform a kind of national security theater, made all the more entrancing by its quasi-secret nature. In the case of ICE detention camps, the DHS has made a show of not permitting local officials or members of Congress to enter those facilities. But such detention centers can’t fulfill their full repressive function if people don’t know anything about what goes on in them. So, we have the spectacle of a hearing in which a congresswoman asked then-DHS secretary Kristi Noem about a double amputee who “has to crawl through mold and feces and bodily fluids just to take a shower.” Knowing that this is happening to people who have almost no recourse is intended to have a chilling effect on political action.
- Concentration camps are not death camps, but people do die there. Many Americans tend to think that all German concentration camps were sites of direct extermination. In fact, the Nazis constructed six camps specifically designed for the industrialized murder of their inhabitants. But for a decade before the first death camp was even opened, prisoners had already been concentrated in thousands of “labor” camps. In fact, they were not there to be killed directly, but to be removed from society. As the National World War II Museum in New Orleans explains, “Initially, the population of these concentration camps were not usually Jews, but Communists, socialists, Roma and Sinti, Jehovah’s witnesses, gay men, and ‘asocial’ elements (alcoholics, criminals, people with mental disabilities, the poor).” Notably, like undocumented people in the U.S. today, these were groups who then received little sympathy from the larger German population. The conditions they encountered — lack of food and medical care, crowding, and unsanitary conditions — sickened and killed as many as a third of those who passed through them.
A Brief History of U.S. Concentration Camps
The Soviet gulag was not the world’s first concentration camp, although such institutions are, in fact, a relatively recent phenomenon. Human beings have long contrived to isolate groups they identify as enemies, as Americans at times did with enslaved Africans and the native peoples of this continent. Indeed, when the Cherokee nation was evicted from its lands under the 1830 Indian Removal Act and forced to travel the “Trail of Tears,” many of them were kept for some time in “emigration depots” in Alabama and Tennessee.
Almost everyone in this country has heard of Nazi Germany’s camps, but the history of the modern concentration camp really began at the end of the nineteenth century. As Andrea Pitzer recounted in a recent interview, Americans first became aware of such camps in the 1890s, when Spain instituted a policy of reconcentración in its efforts to put down a rebellion in Cuba. As has happened in ICE detention camps today, malnourished men, women, and children were shoved into holding camps there, where crowded conditions and poor sanitation led many to sicken and die. News of the horrifying conditions in Cuba led Americans to organize material aid for those being held.
The United States then dispatched the battleship Maine to accompany the ships carrying relief supplies to Cuba. When the Maine sank in Havana harbor under murky circumstances, the U.S. government had the pretext it needed to mount a military campaign against the remnants of Spanish colonial control in the Americas and the Pacific. That relatively short war ended with the U.S. in possession of most of Spain’s remaining colonies, including the island of Puerto Rico, and what would eventually become the nation of the Philippines. Almost immediately, the new American colonizers reproduced in the Philippines the kind of reconcentración camps they had supposedly gone to war to eradicate in Cuba. In another parallel with the twenty-first century, it was during the occupation of the Philippines that U.S. forces invented the form of torture we have come to call “waterboarding.”
Most Americans know about President Franklin D. Roosevelt’s 1942 executive order creating 10 concentration camps to hold people of Japanese descent, about two-thirds of whom were U.S. citizens mostly living in the western United States. Over 120,000 men, women, and children were interned for the duration of World War II. Many lost their homes, farms, businesses, and other property (often seized by their non-Japanese neighbors). A much smaller number of Italian and German nationals were also interned, as Germans had also been during World War I.
The Japanese camps were constructed by the Works Progress Administration (WPA), the same federal agency that provided mass employment for millions during the Great Depression under Roosevelt’s New Deal program. Few Americans know that, in addition to building roads, schools, dams, and the occasional zoo, the WPA also built the barracks and strung the barbed wire that enclosed World War II internees.
ICE’s predecessor agency, the Immigration and Naturalization Service (INS), ran about 20 of those camps, primarily ones imprisoning Japanese, German, and Italian non-citizens. Three of them were built in Texas to hold people from those countries who had been deported from Latin America. (Most of them were Japanese from Peru.) Those camps were guarded by the Border Patrol, rather than the military police. In other words, ICE and U.S. Customs and Border Protection (CBP) have a long history of running the U.S. version of concentration camps. They’re used to it.
American Gulag
It’s no exaggeration to say that ICE detention camps now threaten to become a central instrument of repression under the Trump administration. As many as 40 people have died in the camps since Trump returned to office in January 2025. And those are only the deaths that have been publicly acknowledged.
If Camp East Montana is the biggest ICE camp in the country, the most notorious may well be the Florida site in the Everglades that has come to be known as “Alligator Alcatraz.” Constructed hastily over just a week, according to Amnesty International, it “houses” people in horrific conditions:
“Inside, people are crammed into overcrowded cages around bunk beds with little room to move. Food is spoiled and maggot-infested. Mosquitoes swarm constantly, showers are scarce, and extreme heat and humidity make the center unbearable. There appear to be almost no reliable or confidential means for detainees to communicate with their attorneys or family members.”
That description is echoed in the testimony of people held in ICE detention camps nationwide. A complete report on the conditions at all of those camps would run to hundreds of thousands of words. Indeed, it’s hard to get a handle on the full scope of ICE’s concentration camp program, since reports on the number and size of such camps change quickly as new ones are proposed or come online. The organization Freedom for Immigrants maintains an interactive immigration detention map which identifies at least 200 separate locations where immigrants (and the occasional U.S. citizen) are detained. And the Trump administration is not done. According to the Guardian, DHS plans to spend $3.8 billion “upgrading” 24 existing warehouses to implement ICE Acting Director Todd Lyons’s dream of treating immigrants like human widgets.
And that brings us back to the point of all this. Concentration camps exist to support and expand the power of an authoritarian regime. They make everyone afraid of being treated like the current targets of the regime. Like state torture programs, concentration camps accelerate the process of dehumanizing groups of people in the public imagination. Such a process often begins by describing the target group as non-human, as “vermin” or “garbage” (as Trump has, of course, done). Ironically, the very act of placing people in inhumane conditions can amplify the public’s perception of their inhumanity. After all, would genuine human beings submit to such treatment? Would our good nation treat genuine human beings that way?
One other significant aspect of all this: the enrichment of a few corporations. President Trump’s “Big Beautiful Bill” gave ICE upwards of $45 billion to spend on those camps, which meant that there was a lot of money to be made. Today most of them are run by two private prison companies, CoreCivic and the GEO Group. The president’s Big Beautiful Bill also allows the Department of Homeland Security to expedite that money-making by using the U.S. Navy’s Supply Systems Command program, which serves as an end-run around the usual bidding process for federal contracts.
This morning, I asked my partner whether she thought that the Trump administration could make the transition from concentration camps, where people die as a “side effect” of their internment, to actual death camps. “I think it’s possible,” she responded — and so, horribly — do I.
It’s possible, but not yet inevitable. To date, local actions have provided the most effective means of resisting the creation of the American gulag our federal government is constructing. These have included organizing to oppose siting camps in specific communities, efforts to leverage local zoning laws to stop them, and attempts to generate state-level political opposition to them. (The Washington Post had an excellent roundup of recent efforts in one county in Maryland to block such a camp.)
We know what’s at stake. We know we can dismantle the American gulag, because some of us are already doing it. It’s time for the rest of us to get to work.
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Immigration Detention Is No Place for a Child
As I continue to heal from my own experience in a for-profit ICE prison, I can’t help but wonder if children detained will ever feel safe again.
Feb 25, 2026
Each day, I read more news about children as young as two years old who are detained in a for-profit Immigration and Customs Enforcement detention center in Dilley, Texas, away from their friends, schools, and communities. I see reports of handwritten letters from children asking to be released, as they describe the fear they experience day in and day out while in detention. As an applied developmental scientist who spent more than 13 years studying child and youth development, as well as someone who has firsthand experienced the horrors of encountering immigration enforcement and the inhumane treatment and conditions that follow, I am deeply concerned for children impacted by immigration enforcement surges.
There is no shortage of research that demonstrates the connection between family detention and deportation proceedings of children and negative educational outcomes, elevated levels of distress, mental and physical harm, trauma, and decline in multiple aspects of well-being. Currently, approximately 1 in 12 children in the US face risk of deportation of a loved one and the lasting negative impacts on their psychological and physical well-being. ICE has detained at least 3,800 children since mid-January 2025. Of those 3,800 kids, more than 600 unaccompanied children have been put in custody of the Department of Homeland Security (DHS) and were taken from their parents in many cases.
Regardless of my role as researcher, on a human level I am constantly thinking: What do children feel when they first encounter immigration enforcement, who are usually armed and masked? Do their little bodies tremble or freeze? What happens when federal agents take their parents away from them? What does it mean for a preschooler to be detained? What is their crime? Is it being born or, perhaps, seeking asylum? What sense of childhood remains when immigrant children are detained in inhumane conditions?
What I experienced as an adult paints enough of a bleak picture. As a 30-year-old, I was unlawfully abducted from the street by masked and armed agents for being a co-author in a school op-ed at Tufts Daily that advocated for Palestinian human rights. I was sent to a for-profit ICE prison thousands of miles away from school and the community I’d built in Boston, not to mention thousands of miles away from my family in Turkey. The experience has been profoundly harmful to me, even as an adult. Despite the immense care, love, and support from my community, there has still not been a single day when I have felt safe walking the streets again—not even on my way home or to school. It’s not just the moment of abduction that is terrifying, but also where one will go and the inhumane treatment they may face that cannot be considered developmentally appropriate for any single child. Research suggests that interacting with the immigration system poses harm to children’s long-term development. Previous personal accounts indicate that suffering continues throughout the lifetime.
We must all ask ourselves: Is this really the world we want for our children—one where they are afraid to go to school, home, hospitals, neighborhoods, playgrounds, museums, and libraries for fear of immigration detention?
As I continue to heal from my own experience in a for-profit ICE prison, I can’t help but wonder if children detained will ever feel safe again. I worry about how they will grow up and carry this adverse experience for a lifetime. Interacting with immigration enforcement not only poses developmental risk to children detained in those shameful places for longer periods of time, but also to children (including citizen children) whose parents are detained at the for-profit ICE prisons. In the for-profit prison where I was unlawfully detained, I met countless mothers who cried everyday longing for their children. I met mothers in the deportation process whose hearts were shattered when their children were taken into foster care. I listened as some mothers tried to speak with their children on tablets, only to have officers order them to close the tablets or take them away, leaving their children in tears. I met mothers whose babies were taken from them just weeks after birth. I met with a pregnant mom waiting for her deportation. Her children are American citizens.
But these cruel immigration raids aren’t only harming immigrant children or children with immigrant parents. The experience also affects classmates who are waiting for their detained peers to return. These same children are trying to make sense of what they see on news reports of kids being detained, of disappearing classmates, students, and adults on the street during ICE raids. Children and their teachers are being taken from their communities, leaving classrooms and communities in fear. There are accounts of BIPOC and immigrant children being bullied at school.
We must all ask ourselves: Is this really the world we want for our children—one where they are afraid to go to school, home, hospitals, neighborhoods, playgrounds, museums, and libraries for fear of immigration detention?
I hope there is an end to family detention so that these parents and young children can proceed with their cases while living in their communities, going to school, getting medical treatment, and playing with their friends. Too many children are facing detention because of ICE’s rampant operations. But detention is no place for a child. It’s cruel and unnecessary. We can all take action, whether that means raising our voices to demand an end to child detention, or simply educating ourselves on how current immigration policies are impacting children.
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Immigration Detention Centers Are Political Prisons
As immigrants are being targeted, cross-movement solidarity is essential in the fight to free all political prisoners.
Feb 24, 2026
Incarceration has been used as a core tactic of the United States in upholding racial capitalism and imperialisms through repression, extraction, and violent control. Growing to more than 65,000 people at the start of 2026, more people than ever are being held in immigration detention centers, with 2025 setting a 20-year record for deaths while detained.
The arrest and detention of dissenting people due to political motivations—or, the making of political prisoners—has required alleged charges, manufactured evidence, and the expansion of detention infrastructure. With the creation and rapid expansion of immigration enforcement agencies, the Department of Homeland Security (DHS) is creating another mass category of political prisoners.
Incarceration of Immigrant Protesters As Political Repression
The criminalization of protest and dissent has expanded in mission and in agency, as dissenters without citizenship have been targeted, investigated, and detained.
In a letter sent from inside an Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) detention center in 2025, Palestinian activist Mahmoud Khalil declared, “I am a political prisoner,” as he explained the nature of his warrantless arrest by DHS officers after having been the target of an FBI investigation. Khalil stated, “Justice escapes the contours of this nation’s immigration facilities.”
Movements to end mass incarceration, immigrant justice movements, labor movements, environmental justice movements, and all others need to be interconnected in the fight to free all political prisoners.
Leqaa Kordia, a Palestinian with a pending asylum application in the US, was arrested after attending a protest, her charges were dropped, and she was later placed into custody at an ICE detention facility where she has been held despite a judge's orders for her release. Kordia’s family has shared the conditions she has faced, including being chained while hospitalized and barred from access to her attorneys and family.
A federal judge in Massachusetts ruled that people without citizenship have the same free speech rights as citizens, declaring immigration detention for protest and ideological deportation unconstitutional. Yet, the practice of kidnapping and detaining protesters without citizenship continues. Due to the Israeli occupation, seizure of land, and creation of an apartheid state, Palestinian activists like Mahmoud Khalil, Leqaa Kordia, Mohsen Mahdawi, and others are often considered stateless, making them harder to deport and leading to their indefinite apprehension in immigration detention centers as political prisoners.
The Expansion Of Crimmigration Infrastructure
In a similar pattern to the prison boom in 1980s California, ICE is rapidly expanding its detention infrastructure. Across the country federal funds are being used to purchase warehouses to convert into detention centers and lease offices to conduct operations in efforts to establish mass permanent presence of ICE around every corner. Abroad, the US is invested in political detention at facilities such as the camps in Guantánamo Bay in Cuba and Centro de Confinamiento del Terrorismo (CECOT) in El Salvador.
Alongside political repression, many of these infrastructure-strengthening actions, such as building and staffing for-profit schools in detention facilities and purchasing surveillance technologies, are increasing profits in the billions for developers, tech giants, and stock holders.
Federal funding of these actions by the billions fuels repression. The backing from elected officials, from local jurisdictions to Congress, supplies the infrastructure needed to build a mass system of political prisoners and violent socialeconomic control.
The Making Of Mass Political Prisoners
Prisons are a booming business that require a continued supply of people to ensure continued profit. From what Ruth Wilson Gilmore calls “organized abandonment,” people have been politicized by the repression they experience. The survival behaviors necessary to navigate life in this repression have been criminalized to keep facilities and pockets full.
Because of the nature of detention under racial capitalism, all imprisonment has been considered political, making all who are detained—whether that be in jails, prisons, immigration facilities, involuntary mental health facilities, and other sites of hold—political prisoners. The expansion, then, does not require formal conviction for the state to justify detention indefinitely.
Just like borders, immigration enforcement and detention creates political prisoners. For immigrants in the US, living within its borders is a political act, and continuing to live is a form of resistance. Once detained, immigrants are marked for life as a threat. A child born in an immigration detention facility is born a political prisoner.
These processes make political prisoners common, legitimizing their treatment and making it more difficult to unbuild the systems that keep them.
A Collective Responsibility To Resist
Political prisoners of movement spaces, such as Assata Shakur, Leonard Peltier, and Xinachtli (Alvaro Luna Hernandez), did not allow their detention to stop their resistance efforts. Many have written letters while incarcerated, providing critical texts revealing the use of detention as a method of political repression while exposing their inhumane living conditions. Others have organized from the inside, building power among incarcerated workers and connections to movements on the outside. And, like those held in immigration detention, some have focused on survival as their act of resistance.
On the outside, organizations such as the National Political Prisoner Coalition, Critical Resistance, the National Alliance Against Racist and Political Repression, and Close Guantánamo and the Center for Victims of Torture, have centered their actions around campaigns to free political prisoners. With the expansion of political prisonership under immigration repression, cross-movement solidarity is needed to work in coordination to interrupt and end all carceral tactics used for repression. Movements to end mass incarceration, immigrant justice movements, labor movements, environmental justice movements, and all others need to be interconnected in the fight to free all political prisoners.
Our survival depends on each other.
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