It started as a bold fundraising move for Florida's Republican Party: a new line of hats, T-shirts, mugs, and drink sleeves emblazoned with "THE DEPORT DEPOT" in a blocky, stenciled font splashed across a bright orange square. The design was an unmistakable nod—some might say a direct imitation—to the iconic branding of Home Depot, the home improvement giant. But within two days, what was meant to be a cheeky celebration of Governor Ron DeSantis’s plan for a new immigrant detention center turned into a public relations headache, sparking backlash from immigrant advocates and a swift legal response from Home Depot itself.
The merchandise, which appeared on the Florida GOP’s online store on August 15, 2025, was quickly scrubbed from digital shelves after Home Depot raised objections. According to The Independent, Sarah McDonald, Home Depot’s director of public affairs, stated, “We don’t allow any organization to use our branding or logo for their commercial purposes.” Her colleague, Beth Marlowe, reinforced the company’s stance, telling the Miami Herald, “The company had not approved the use of its branding or logo and reached out to the Republican Party of Florida to resolve this issue.” After these complaints, not only was the merchandise removed, but posts promoting it on social media vanished as well—sometimes within minutes of media inquiries, as reported by The Washington Post.
The now-infamous “Deport Depot” line was more than just a controversial fashion statement. It was a fundraising mechanism: items ranged from $15 to $28, with each sale counted as a political contribution to the Florida GOP, according to Newsweek and the Miami Herald. Even after news of the dispute broke, the merchandise remained available for a short time, but was ultimately pulled from sale within hours.
The merchandise was tied to Governor DeSantis’s latest immigration initiative: converting the shuttered Baker Correctional Institution, a rural prison between Tallahassee and Jacksonville closed since 2021 due to staff shortages, into a new detention center. This center, dubbed the "Deportation Depot" by supporters, is intended to house up to 1,300 migrants. State officials estimate the conversion will cost $6 million. The announcement came just as a federal court ordered a halt to construction at the existing Everglades detention facility, known as "Alligator Alcatraz," over environmental concerns. That facility, which opened in early July 2025 at a cost of $450 million, currently holds around 1,000 detainees.
The Everglades center has become a lightning rod for controversy. Environmental groups—including Friends of the Everglades, the Center for Biological Diversity, Earthjustice, and the Miccosukee Tribe—have sued both the Trump and DeSantis administrations, accusing them of sidestepping a federal law that requires an environmental review before such projects move forward. They are seeking a preliminary injunction to halt operations at "Alligator Alcatraz," arguing that the detention center could cause “irreparable” harm to the fragile Everglades ecosystem. The legal proceedings remain ongoing, with a federal judge weighing whether to shut down the facility until a full verdict is reached.
Inside "Alligator Alcatraz," reports from detainees and former guards paint a grim picture: limited access to fresh water, rain leaking through the tents that cover chain-link cells, and swarms of mosquitoes attacking both detainees and staff. These conditions have drawn criticism from immigrant advocates and Democratic lawmakers alike. Anna V. Eskamani, a Democratic state legislator from Orlando, contacted Home Depot after seeing the merchandise, voicing her frustration: “I’m happy to see the merchandise be removed but at the end of the day it doesn’t address the offensive and arrogant behavior of the anti-immigrant agenda.”
To many immigrant rights advocates, the use of playful, alliterative nicknames like “Deportation Depot” and “Alligator Alcatraz” for detention centers is more than just bad taste—it’s a cruel mockery. Thomas Kennedy, a policy consultant at the Florida Immigrant Coalition, told The Washington Post, “The names are salt on the wound.” He and others argue that such branding trivializes the struggles of migrants and the harsh realities of detention.
For its part, the Florida GOP has defended the merchandise as protected political expression. In a statement, the party said, “RPOF’s limited-run products here were not affiliated with The Home Depot. The designs on the products are a playful commentary supporting Florida’s ‘Deportation Depot’ immigration center, and they are parodic, artistic, and non-commercial speech protected by RPOF’s First Amendment right to engage in political speech.” Still, the legal threat from Home Depot proved decisive.
Home Depot’s concern was not just about branding. The company, which employs over 500,000 people—about 19 percent of whom identify as Hispanic or Latino, according to Newsweek—has found itself at the intersection of immigration enforcement and public controversy before. Its stores have long been known as gathering spots for day laborers, many of them immigrants seeking work in construction. This has made Home Depot a recurring target for Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) raids. Pablo Alvarado, co-executive director of the National Day Laborer Organizing Network, remarked to the L.A. Times, “Home Depot, whether they like it or not, they are the epicenter of raids.”
Recent months have seen several high-profile ICE operations at Home Depot locations. In June 2025, a raid at a Los Angeles store sparked protests and, tragically, a man was killed on a Southern California freeway while fleeing from ICE agents, as reported by NBC News. In Washington, D.C., multiple people were detained at a Home Depot, with video of the incident circulating widely online. Home Depot spokeswoman Beth Marlowe clarified that the company is not notified in advance of ICE activities at its stores and is not involved in enforcement actions.
The swirl of politics, commerce, and immigration policy has left many Floridians—and Americans more broadly—debating the boundaries of free speech, the ethics of political fundraising, and the responsibilities of corporations when their brands are co-opted for controversial causes. As the legal and political battles continue, the episode serves as a vivid reminder that, in today’s America, even a T-shirt can spark a national debate.
The rapid rise and fall of “THE DEPORT DEPOT” merchandise may have ended with a quick retreat, but the larger issues it exposed—over branding, immigration, and political speech—are far from resolved. The eyes of the nation remain fixed on Florida, where the next chapter in the state’s contentious immigration saga is sure to unfold.
