On a humid Sunday evening in mid-August, the chorus of more than 200 voices rose above the Florida Everglades, echoing along the Tamiami Trail as clergy, faith leaders, and concerned citizens gathered outside the controversial immigrant detention center known as "Alligator Alcatraz." Chanting slogans like "Shut it down" and "This is a preserve, not a prison," the crowd—comprised mostly of reverends, rabbis, pastors, and people of faith—held their third consecutive weekly vigil, seeking to draw attention to what they describe as inhumane treatment of detainees and a violation of sacred ground near the Big Cypress National Preserve. According to the Miami Herald, the movement, which began with a single prayer, has rapidly grown, drawing participants from across South and Central Florida and uniting diverse faiths in a call for justice and compassion.
The timing of these protests is hardly coincidental. Just a day later, on August 18, 2025, a federal judge in Miami heard arguments in two lawsuits challenging the practices at Alligator Alcatraz. Civil rights attorneys, as reported by the Associated Press, are seeking a preliminary injunction to guarantee that detainees at the temporary facility have confidential access to legal counsel—a right they argue has been routinely denied. Florida officials, for their part, staunchly dispute these claims, insisting that since mid-July, every request for attorney meetings has been granted, with videoconferencing starting July 15 and in-person meetings commencing on July 28.
But for the faith leaders gathered outside the gates, the issue runs deeper than legal technicalities. Their protest is not just about policies or courtrooms; it's about human dignity and the moral fabric of the nation. Many cite scripture and religious teachings as the foundation of their opposition to the detention center and the broader immigration policies it represents. "We must fight for full rights for immigrants," declared Nick Gary, political coordinator for Faith in Florida, a coalition representing over 900 congregations. He urged attendees, "Do not keep what you saw today to yourself. I need each and every one of you to talk to three people and tell them what you saw and say, ‘I may not know how to fix it, but let’s figure it out together.’"
Among the most passionate voices was Betty Osceola, a member of the Miccosukee Tribe of Indians of Florida and one of the original organizers of the vigils. To her, the protest is a matter of restoring empathy and respecting what tribal members consider sacred ground. "People coming back to their humanity is what’s going to stop this," she reflected. "I prayed and asked, ‘What do you need me to do?’ When I heard that voice in the wind tell me that I need human beings again, that was my commitment to creator … to help people to be human beings again, to get back to their humanity." She noted that since the first spiritual vigil at the beginning of August, the movement has only grown, with more churches and places of worship joining each week.
Inside the facility, the situation is tense and fraught with uncertainty. The Associated Press reports that civil rights attorneys allege detainees have been pressured by officers to sign voluntary removal orders before consulting with lawyers. Some have reportedly been deported without final removal orders, while others face scheduling delays and restrictive requirements that hinder confidential legal meetings. The first detainees arrived at the beginning of July, and since then, the facility has grappled with outbreaks of respiratory infection and rainwater flooding the tents—circumstances that, according to court filings, have fueled a sense of desperation among those held there.
Legal wrangling over the facility’s operations continues on multiple fronts. At Monday’s hearing, U.S. District Judge Rodolfo Ruiz pressed government attorneys to clarify which immigration court has jurisdiction over Alligator Alcatraz, a point of confusion that has led to canceled hearings and uncertainty for detainees. In a partial resolution, government lawyers agreed to designate the immigration court at the Krome North Service Processing Center in Miami as the responsible body. Yet, the question of proper venue remains tangled: while the isolated airstrip where the center sits is owned by Miami-Dade County (in Florida’s southern district), the site itself is in Collier County (part of the state’s middle district). Judge Ruiz hinted that the federal case might belong in the southern district, but the state case might be better suited to the middle district. No immediate ruling was issued, leaving the fate of the lawsuits—and the detainees—up in the air.
Meanwhile, another legal challenge looms. On August 7, U.S. District Judge Kathleen Williams ordered a 14-day halt on further construction at the site, citing concerns that federal environmental regulations had not been followed. Witnesses testified about the potential ecological impacts of building such a facility in the heart of the Everglades, and Judge Williams promised a ruling before the temporary order expires later this week. The possibility of a court-mandated shutdown hangs over the center, adding to the uncertainty for detainees and officials alike.
Florida’s response to the crisis has been to double down. Governor Ron DeSantis announced last week that the state is preparing to open a second immigration detention facility, dubbed "Deportation Depot," at a state prison in north Florida. DeSantis argued that the expansion is necessary to provide President Donald Trump’s administration with additional capacity to detain and deport immigrants. This move has further inflamed tensions among activists and faith leaders, who see it as a step backward for human rights and due process.
The faith-based protests outside Alligator Alcatraz have drawn a diverse coalition. Miami pastor Rev. Juan del Hierro brought 44 members of his inclusive spiritual community, Unity on the Bay, to the vigil, expressing solidarity with immigrants regardless of status. "Every person, no matter where they come from, no matter their immigration status, is a child of God," he proclaimed. Rabbi Jessica Jacobs of Temple Beth Sholom in Miami Beach echoed the sentiment, emphasizing that "the holiness of a human is not linked to their immigration status, or their birth place, their language of origin, their ethnicity, or their job." Many speakers cited religious texts to underline their moral opposition to the center.
Rev. Brittany Leclair, who traveled by bus from Tampa Bay with over 100 attendees, summed up the unifying theme: "It’s the morality and abuse of human dignity, we all believe different things and have a different higher power but we all agree that human dignity and the sanctity of life is very important so that’s what’s bringing us together." Others, like Rev. Esther Robles, highlighted the broader impact on local communities, noting a "general air of fear" among Hispanics, with many avoiding church or medical appointments out of fear of encountering immigration officers.
The weekly vigils have become a space for reflection and solidarity, but also for frustration and soul-searching. Paula Muñoz, an organizer with the Florida Student Power Network, described her own struggle to explain the situation to students, admitting, "I had so much rage because I couldn’t understand, as a woman of faith, as an Evangelical, how my people have voted for this. I couldn’t understand it." For many, the fight is not just about policy, but about reclaiming the nation’s moral compass.
As the legal and moral battles over Alligator Alcatraz continue, the voices outside its gates grow louder, drawing strength from shared faith and a collective demand for justice. The outcome remains uncertain, but for those gathered in the Everglades, the call to action is clear: restore humanity, defend dignity, and refuse to look away.
