In the heart of Florida’s Everglades, a sprawling tent city known as “Alligator Alcatraz” has become the center of a fierce national debate—one that intertwines immigration enforcement, environmental stewardship, and basic human rights. Heralded by the Trump administration as a paragon of efficiency and a model for future mass-deportation efforts, the facility’s rapid rise and controversial operations have triggered lawsuits, protests, and a federal court order halting its expansion.
The story of Alligator Alcatraz began on an abandoned airstrip—the Dade-Collier Training and Transition Airport—where, in just eight days, Florida authorities constructed a temporary detention center. According to New York Magazine, the state’s “marketing pitch” for the facility was inspired by former President Donald Trump’s nostalgia for the original Alcatraz and his desire to see similar centers nationwide. The result: a $450 million project, funded largely by the Federal Emergency Management Agency’s Shelter and Services Program, meant to house migrants awaiting deportation.
Homeland Security Secretary Kristi Noem has lauded the facility as a “beacon of efficiency,” and the Trump administration has promoted it as a blueprint for other states—naming Arizona, Nebraska, Louisiana, and Texas as likely candidates for similar centers. Texas Senator John Cornyn, for instance, has already announced plans for what he claims will be the “largest illegal immigrant detention center” under Trump’s leadership. But behind the political fanfare, troubling reports have surfaced from inside the Everglades encampment.
Detainees and their advocates describe a grim reality. The facility, they say, lacks proper plumbing, forcing sewage to be trucked out and water to be brought in. Some allege that food served to detainees has contained maggots and other insects. “The backing up of toilets has been a huge issue,” Adriana Rivera of the Florida Immigrant Coalition told New York Magazine, adding that some detainees have had to “dig the fecal matter out of the toilets with their bare hands” because there was no way to flush them. Despite denials from the Florida Division of Emergency Management, no independent inspections have been allowed, leaving many questions about the true conditions inside.
These reports have not gone unnoticed. More than 40,000 public comments opposing the center have flooded the website of Friends of the Everglades, an environmental nonprofit. “Driving out there myself many times, the increased traffic is visible. I saw two dead gators last time I visited, so definitely a difference in the area,” testified Eve Samples, the group’s executive director, in federal court. Jessica Namath, daughter of NFL legend Joe Namath and a member of the nonprofit, described the area as “heartbreakingly different,” citing light pollution visible from 15 miles away and the loss of the Everglades’ distinctive dark sky.
On August 7, 2025, these concerns culminated in a major legal development. U.S. District Judge Kathleen M. Williams issued a temporary restraining order halting all new construction at Alligator Alcatraz for 14 days, following two days of testimony in Miami federal court. The order, as reported by NBC Miami, covers activities such as filling, paving, installation of additional infrastructure, and the addition of lighting fixtures. However, the ruling does not affect immigration enforcement operations at the site. “Plaintiffs are not asking this court nor would this court enter an order that would stop immigration efforts,” Judge Williams clarified, emphasizing that the litigation is about environmental compliance, not immigration policy.
The environmental lawsuit, filed in June 2025, alleges that the facility was built without the mandatory ecological reviews required under the National Environmental Policy Act and the Endangered Species Act. The site, located within the Big Cypress National Preserve—a sensitive wetland habitat home to endangered and threatened species—was reportedly paved over without public notice or comment. Christopher McVoy, an Everglades expert and board member of Friends of the Everglades, testified that he observed “11 acres of new pavement” and a notable uptick in traffic. Dillon Reio, a professional geologist, warned of the lack of a cohesive stormwater plan and the risk that runoff could contaminate surrounding ecosystems.
The environmental case is only one front in a broader legal battle. Civil rights attorneys have filed a separate lawsuit alleging that detainees are being held without charges, denied access to lawyers, and subjected to inhumane conditions. The hunger strike that reached its two-week mark on August 5, 2025, was intended to protest these conditions. According to Anna Weiser of the Smith & Eulo law firm, her client Gonzalo Almanza Valdez—a permanent U.S. resident with a resolved racketeering charge—has been held at the facility since July 11 without charges and was initially denied access to his attorney. “This is a disaster,” Weiser said. “They built it … and they’ve taken all these people, but they have no process in place for them to see lawyers.”
Other detainees, like Valdez, have reported being mistreated after speaking out or joining lawsuits. His wife, Aschly, recounted how guards began to taunt him and provide him with food that would make him ill, despite his medical dietary needs. “Once the lawsuit and everything started coming out, there was one day he didn’t eat for almost a whole day because they kept getting it wrong,” she told New York Magazine. Valdez also described walking on floors covered in water “mixed with poo and pee” and witnessing another detainee’s health decline after he was denied antibiotics following surgery.
Despite Governor Ron DeSantis’s claims that everyone at the facility is under “final removal orders,” more than 250 detainees reportedly have no criminal convictions or charges—a finding that contradicts repeated White House assertions that only the “worst of the worst” are being held. The Department of Homeland Security, meanwhile, has distanced itself from the site, insisting that Florida alone is responsible for detention decisions under its agreement with Immigration and Customs Enforcement.
As legal battles continue, the future of Alligator Alcatraz remains uncertain. Judge Williams has given federal and state authorities until August 18 to clarify the jurisdictional “black hole” surrounding the facility—a question that has left immigration lawyers unable to determine who is truly in charge. For now, the center operates in a legal and ethical limbo, its fate tied to the outcome of lawsuits that could shape the national conversation on immigration, environmental protection, and the rights of detainees for years to come.
Alligator Alcatraz stands as a stark symbol of the intersection between policy ambition and the messy realities on the ground. Its rapid construction, controversial operations, and the mounting outcry from both environmentalists and civil rights advocates ensure that the debate over its existence—and its legacy—is far from over.
