In a dramatic turn for U.S. immigration policy and Florida state politics, the controversial "Alligator Alcatraz" detention facility in the Everglades is on the verge of emptying its last detainees, after a series of court rulings, political showdowns, and mounting lawsuits. The rapid rise—and now apparent fall—of this state-run immigration center has spotlighted the complex intersection of federal enforcement, state ambitions, environmental concerns, and the lives caught in between.
According to an August 22, 2025, email obtained by ABC News and The Associated Press, Kevin Guthrie, the head of the Florida Division of Emergency Management, told a South Florida rabbi that "we are probably going to be down to 0 individuals within a few days." This message was soon confirmed by the rabbi’s office and echoed by other interfaith leaders, signaling a swift wind-down at the facility known as "Alligator Alcatraz." The news came just days after U.S. District Judge Kathleen Williams ordered state and federal agencies to vacate the site and remove all equipment within 60 days, following a lawsuit filed by environmental groups and the Miccosukee Tribe of Indians of Florida.
The detention center, hastily constructed in just eight days on a single-runway training airport in the heart of the Everglades, was meant to be a flagship for the Trump administration’s push to expand immigration detention capacity. Florida Governor Ron DeSantis, a vocal supporter of the project, declared a state of emergency to fast-track the facility’s approval and opening, bypassing the usual months or years of planning and public review. The center officially opened on July 1, 2025, with President Donald Trump himself touring the site and touting it as a model for future lockups nationwide. State officials signed contracts totaling more than $245 million for its construction and operation, though the expected cost was cited as high as $400 million in court filings.
But the facility’s operational life has been anything but smooth. Lawsuits quickly followed its announcement and opening. Environmental advocates and the Miccosukee Tribe argued that the detention center threatened sensitive wetlands and endangered local wildlife, potentially undermining decades of restoration efforts in the Everglades. Their legal challenge led Judge Williams to issue a restraining order on August 7, 2025, halting new construction, and then, on August 21, to demand a full wind-down and removal of all remaining infrastructure.
In her ruling, Williams wrote that the state and federal defendants "constructed the facility in eight days and have repeatedly emphasized that the facility was designed and constructed to be temporary." She rejected the request by the Trump administration and Florida officials to stay her order, stating they had failed to provide new evidence or arguments. Williams also barred the transfer of new detainees to the facility and ordered the removal of fencing, light fixtures, generators, and other equipment within two months.
The legal saga is far from over. Florida’s state attorneys filed a 52-page motion with the 11th U.S. Circuit Court of Appeals on August 26, seeking a stay of Williams’ injunction. They argue that the center is necessary to alleviate overcrowding in other detention facilities. Meanwhile, the Department of Homeland Security (DHS) has begun moving detainees out, citing compliance with the court order. "DHS is complying with this order and moving detainees to other facilities. We will continue to fight tooth-and-nail to remove the worst of the worst from American streets," a DHS official told CBS News and Newsweek.
Governor DeSantis, for his part, has doubled down on his criticism of what he calls "activist judges." At an August 27 press conference, he insisted, "Deportations are continuing. DHS is taking people out of there and they're moving them out. Our role is to provide more space for processing (and) detention leading to deportation. DHS determines who goes into those facilities and who goes out of those facilities ... although we'd be willing to do it, but we are not the ones actually removing them from those facilities and sending them back to their home country. That's being done by DHS and sometimes there's a pit stop along the way."
The facility’s rapid construction and operation, however, have drawn sharp criticism. Protesters have repeatedly marched outside its gates, and civil rights groups allege that detainees faced inhumane conditions—including limited access to water, unsanitary food, and difficulty contacting attorneys and family members. One lawsuit claims that detainees have been unable to meet with their lawyers confidentially, while another questions whether Florida even has the legal authority to operate such a center. Federal and state officials have denied these allegations.
Environmental groups and the Miccosukee Tribe remain adamant that the Everglades facility was never needed, especially as Florida prepares to open a second detention center in the state’s north, which DeSantis has dubbed "Deportation Depot." During a tour last week, Democratic Representative Maxwell Frost noted that only a fraction of the center’s beds were occupied, with between 300 and 350 detainees present at a facility designed for thousands.
Despite the heated rhetoric, on-the-ground developments reflect the judge’s order taking effect. Miccosukee tribe member Betty Osceola, who lives nearby, observed that "it doesn't look like they're doing new stuff. We've seen stuff with people come out and we've seen a tractor trailer came in with lights but then they came back out. So, we've seen people come out but we haven't seen tents or generators come out. That's a good sign." Equipment removal and a slowdown in activity have been noted since late August.
Meanwhile, the state’s appeal to halt the closure is still pending. The environmental groups and the Miccosukee Tribe have formally opposed the request, arguing that the facility’s closure is essential to protect the Everglades and its unique ecosystem. The court has yet to rule on the stay request, leaving the future of "Alligator Alcatraz" in limbo for now.
The saga of "Alligator Alcatraz" is a microcosm of the broader national debate over immigration enforcement, state versus federal authority, environmental stewardship, and due process for detainees. As the last detainees leave and the facility’s equipment is dismantled, the story continues to ripple through Florida’s political landscape and beyond, raising questions about how—and where—the next chapter in U.S. immigration detention will unfold.
