On the evening of October 24, 2025, the usually quiet town of Marana, Arizona, erupted with the sounds of frustration and fear. More than 350 residents from Marana and neighboring Southern Arizona communities crowded into a local town hall, their voices raised in protest against what many see as a looming threat: the possible reopening of a shuttered state prison as an Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) detention center. The gathering, described by The Arizona Republic as filled with boos and hisses, was a clear sign of the community’s unease and mistrust toward Management and Training Corporation (MTC), the Utah-based, privately owned, for-profit prison company that recently purchased the facility from the state.
What’s fueling this unrest? At its core is a lack of transparency. Despite repeated requests from the media, local officials, and the public, MTC has steadfastly refused to confirm whether the former prison will be repurposed as an ICE detention facility. This silence has left residents anxious, fearing the arrival of a massive federal operation in their backyard without any opportunity for input or oversight. As one Marana resident put it during the meeting, the company’s refusal to communicate is “an insult to our community.”
This local controversy is unfolding against a backdrop of dramatic national developments in immigration enforcement. According to a recent report by NPR, at least 20 people have died in ICE custody so far in 2025, marking the deadliest year since 2005, when the same number of deaths occurred. The surge in fatalities comes as ICE is detaining nearly 60,000 people—its highest population in several years. President Donald Trump’s administration has made immigration crackdowns a central pillar of its second-term agenda, ramping up mass deportations and expanding the scope and scale of immigration raids across the country.
To support these efforts, ICE received a staggering $70 billion in funding during the summer of 2025, earmarked to hire more staff and increase detention capacity. But as the number of detainees soars, so do concerns about safety and oversight. Officials and advocates alike warn that the combination of increased detainee numbers, understaffed medical teams, and lax federal oversight could create a perfect storm of risk for those held in ICE facilities.
Peter Mina, a former ICE employee who worked in the Civil Rights and Civil Liberties branch at the Department of Homeland Security, spoke candidly to NPR about the dangers inherent in the current system. “Can staffing actually keep pace with the increase in population? And that becomes particularly challenging in more remote locations where it was already difficult to find qualified staff willing to come out and work,” Mina said. “And that just places risk all across the system, including, unfortunately, individuals in detention facing medical conditions that might result in their death.”
The challenges don’t end there. The very offices responsible for investigating deaths in ICE custody have been weakened. Earlier this year, the Civil Rights and Civil Liberties branch faced major staff cuts, and the Immigration Office of Detention Oversight was not operational during the 2025 government shutdown. While ICE is attempting to hire more medical staff using its recent funding boost, the agency’s longstanding struggle to provide adequate care remains a pressing concern.
Meanwhile, the federal government is pushing ahead with plans to dramatically expand its detention infrastructure. According to reporting by CNN, a new migrant detention center with a capacity of 10,000 people is expected to be built in Utah as part of a sweeping initiative to construct six new facilities across the United States. The Department of Homeland Security is spending $10 billion on the project and has enlisted the U.S. Navy to help identify and contract with eligible builders. Construction is set to begin in some locations as soon as November 2025, though specifics about which sites will break ground first remain unclear.
Currently, when people are detained by ICE in Utah, they are processed at the agency’s West Valley office or held temporarily in local jail facilities before being transferred to larger detention centers in Las Vegas, Nevada, or Aurora, Colorado. Earlier this year, The New York Times reported that Hill Air Force Base might be considered as a site for holding immigrants, though officials at the base said they had not been officially contacted at that time.
The planned Utah facility is just one part of a broader expansion. According to CNN, other new detention centers are expected to be built in Louisiana, Georgia, Pennsylvania, Indiana, and Kansas. ICE currently has funding for 41,000 beds nationwide but aims to double that number in response to the rising detainee population. Tom Homan, the White House border czar, has been vocal about the need for this expansion, arguing that more beds are necessary to manage the influx of immigrants detained under the administration’s aggressive enforcement policies.
For communities like Marana, the prospect of becoming home to a new or expanded ICE detention center is deeply unsettling. Residents worry about the strain such a facility could place on local resources, the potential for increased crime or unrest, and the moral implications of participating in a federal system that has been widely criticized for its treatment of detainees. At the same time, some local officials see economic opportunities in hosting such centers, pointing to the jobs and federal funding they can bring. This tension between economic development and social responsibility is playing out in towns across the country as the federal government seeks partners for its detention expansion.
Amid this uncertainty, the lack of communication from companies like MTC only heightens residents’ concerns. As one attendee at the Marana town hall noted, “We deserve answers. We deserve to have a say in what happens in our community.” That sentiment is echoed by advocacy groups and watchdog organizations, who argue that secrecy and a lack of oversight are a recipe for disaster—especially given the troubling rise in deaths and reports of inadequate medical care within ICE facilities.
As construction looms in Utah and possibly other states, and as Marana residents await word on the fate of their local prison, the debate over America’s immigration detention system shows no sign of abating. The stakes are high: for detainees whose lives may hang in the balance, for communities grappling with the consequences of federal policy, and for a nation wrestling with its identity and values in the face of unprecedented immigration challenges.
Whether these new centers will ultimately bring safety, security, and order—or further controversy and tragedy—remains to be seen. For now, the voices rising in Marana and beyond are a reminder that the human cost of immigration enforcement extends far beyond the walls of any one detention center.
