The Lingering Shadow of Private Detention: Union County and Beyond
Near the heart of Elizabeth, New Jersey, the once-bustling Union County Jail has stood vacant for four years—an empty reminders of evolving American attitudes toward incarceration and immigrant rights. But as county commissioners openly consider bids that may transform this idle space into a federal Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) detention facility, fear and determination have united residents, faith leaders, and immigrant advocates in robust opposition.
Anxieties are running high as the specter of private prison giants like CoreCivic and GEO Group looms over the bidding process. Local officials estimate it would cost $15 million just to repair the decaying structure, setting the stage for profit-driven correctional corporations to snap up the complex. Make the Road New Jersey and other advocacy groups have quickly mobilized, holding rallies and denouncing both the commodification of incarceration and the extraordinary trauma these centers inflict on local families.
What motivates such opposition? For many, the answer is personal. Union County’s diverse landscape—where nearly sixty percent of Elizabeth’s residents are Latino—stands to be deeply destabilized by an ICE presence. Organizers warn that the chilling effect extends far beyond jail walls: families severed by sudden detentions, children forced to live in constant anxiety, and small businesses suffering as customers grow wary of leaving their homes. County Manager Ed Oatman insists that no binding decisions have been made, telling reporters that a Request for Proposals “has no guaranteed outcome.” Yet for local families, this assurance rings hollow against the backdrop of recent nationwide immigration crackdowns and the notorious history of America’s private detention industry.
Leavenworth’s Battle: Private Profits Versus Public Safety
Kansas finds itself locked in a parallel drama. The city of Leavenworth has filed suit to halt CoreCivic’s efforts to reopen a shuttered prison as an ICE facility, illuminating the legal and ethical complexities that attend privatized detention. The closed prison lost its grandfathered exemption to operate after ceasing prisoner housing in 2021, according to city officials, who now argue that CoreCivic is seeking to bypass critical local permitting processes. The company, meanwhile, insists a special permit is unnecessary.
Past staff have broken their silence, painting a disturbing portrait of working conditions inside such facilities. One former worker recounted, “I worked there myself for ten months until I was attacked by an inmate. And now I’m permanently disabled.” This testimony isn’t an outlier: across the U.S., private detention centers have been repeatedly cited for understaffing, inadequate safety measures, and substandard medical care. The story is not just one of financial self-interest but of real human cost, born not only by inmates but also those tasked to guard them.
The broader community also faces risk. According to a 2022 Pew Research analysis, spikes in immigration enforcement correlate with increased racial profiling and distrust of law enforcement among diverse populations. As cities fight costly legal battles, one wonders: Who truly benefits from these arrangements? If you live nearby, you’re likely concerned about your neighborhood’s safety, your property values, and the emotional well-being of your neighbors—none of which private prison firms are incentivized to protect.
Fear, Disruption, and the Human Toll: A National Reckoning
Atlanta became another flashpoint in this nationwide struggle when nearly 100 people protested outside a local ICE office to demand fair treatment for students and immigrants alike. Recent immigration enforcement actions saw over 900 international students from more than 120 schools have their visas abruptly revoked, an act that upended lives and academic futures.
An international student captured the collective trauma, stating:
“It felt like the world was falling apart.”
Families are being separated and students left stranded without recourse, forced to navigate bureaucracy amid fear and uncertainty. Public defenders, mental health experts, and educators warn of the long-term psychological effects—trauma not just for those detained, but for entire communities who must weigh the risks of seeking education, medical attention, or even buying groceries. Such policies don’t just restrict movement; they undermine the very notion of a welcoming, diverse America.
History offers ample warnings. During the early 2010s, bipartisan criticism grew regarding private detention facilities as revelations of abuse, neglect, and human rights violations became impossible to ignore. Still, the financial calculus—boosted by guaranteed government contracts—kept the industry alive. The Trump administration’s zero-tolerance approach reignited the practice, spreading fear and uncertainty to cities and suburbs once considered safe harbors.
Experts like University of Chicago law professor Nicole Hallett emphasize, “Expanding detention undermines constitutional protections and disproportionately harms vulnerable immigrant populations. There are better, more humane alternatives.” Independent research supports this claim: Studies published in the American Journal of Public Health associate proximity to ICE raids with poorer health outcomes, increased anxiety, and reduced civic engagement among immigrant families.
Rethinking Detention: Communities Demand Change
Beneath the rallies and legal battles lies a deeper reckoning with American values. The question posed at every protest is deeply moral, not just political: Do we invest in systems that perpetuate fear, profit, and division, or do we confront the uncomfortable work of turning toward fairness, inclusion, and compassion?
Opponents of new ICE facilities, from Union County to Leavenworth to Atlanta, aren’t just resisting another jail—they are demanding a fundamentally different vision of safety and community. Their vision calls for robust immigration reform, due process, and investment in community-based alternatives that keep families together and bolster local economies. As the slogan resonating through nationwide rallies reminds us: “Communities Not Cages.”
Absent a dramatic course correction, the ongoing flirtation with private detention risks repeating the very mistakes that have brought so much harm and division. Yet hope remains, visible in every voice raised at a county building, every former staffer who dares testify, and every student who refuses to be silenced.
