In the rolling plains of southwest Nebraska, a storm of uncertainty and debate has settled over the small city of McCook. The cause? Governor Jim Pillen’s recent plan to convert the McCook Work Ethic Camp—a minimum-security prison lauded for its rehabilitation programs—into a new immigration detention center as part of President Donald Trump’s ongoing immigration crackdown. While the proposal has drawn support from some corners, it’s also sparked backlash from lawmakers and residents who say the plan has been rushed and shrouded in ambiguity.
Governor Pillen’s announcement, made in mid-August 2025, caught many off guard. The McCook facility, which opened in 2001 and currently houses about 155 inmates, is nestled in Red Willow County, a region where nearly 80% of voters backed Trump in the 2024 election. The area’s conservative tilt would seem to align with the administration’s hardline immigration stance. Yet, as the plan to repurpose the camp into what’s now dubbed the “Cornhusker Clink” moves forward, skepticism and concern are growing louder—especially since, as of September 12, no formal agreement had yet been signed between Nebraska and federal authorities.
According to the Associated Press, corrections officials insist the facility could start housing hundreds of male immigration detainees as soon as next month. The plan involves retrofitting classrooms and other areas for beds, aiming to accommodate between 200 and 300 detainees. This would more than double the camp’s original design capacity of about 100 and even surpass its current outfitted capacity. The staff of 97, already stretched thin in a state system known for overcrowding and understaffing, are expected to be retrained and remain on duty. Additional hiring is planned, but details remain sparse.
The lack of clear answers has frustrated many lawmakers. After a recent briefing from state officials, State Senator Wendy DeBoer remarked, “There was more unanswered questions than answered questions in terms of what they know.” Lawmakers learned that it was Governor Pillen’s office that approached federal officials with the offer, responding to what DeBoer described as Trump’s “generalized, widespread call that we need more room or something for detainees.” Yet, crucial questions about costs, staffing, and oversight went largely unanswered. The state expects to bear the initial costs of conversion, with the hope that the federal government will reimburse those expenses, but, as corrections officials told lawmakers, “that number has not yet been determined.”
For McCook’s local leaders and residents, the announcement landed like a bolt from the blue. Mike O’Dell, publisher of the McCook Gazette, told the Associated Press, “City leaders were given absolutely no choice in the matter.” The city of roughly 7,000 has grown accustomed to the camp’s low-level offenders, who work on roads, in parks, and even in local schools. “People here have gotten to know them in many cases,” O’Dell said. “I think there is a feeling here that people want to know where these folks are going to end up and that they’ll be OK.”
Some see the camp as a success story, a place where education, treatment, and work programs have helped reduce prisoner recidivism. State leaders have often praised its role in helping inmates transition back into society. The prospect of replacing this with an immigration detention center—especially one that could strain the facility’s limits—has left many uneasy.
Concerns about the process have spilled into the state legislature. A letter signed by 13 lawmakers questioned whether Governor Pillen had the authority to unilaterally transfer use of a state prison to federal authorities without legislative approval. State Senator Terrell McKinney, chair of the Legislature’s Urban Affairs Committee and a vocal critic of Nebraska’s overcrowded prison system, convened a public hearing on September 12 to press for answers. Citing concerns about building code violations and safety, McKinney asked pointedly, “How can you take a facility that was built for 125 people and take that to a capacity of 200 to 300 people without creating, you know, a security risk?”
Governor Pillen and state prison officials declined to attend the hearing, a move that only fueled frustration among lawmakers and residents. Pillen maintains that state law gives him the authority to make the transfer, arguing that the Department of Correctional Services falls under the executive branch. His office defended the plan in an email, stating that McCook’s mayor and the local sheriff were informed after “it became apparent that the Department of Homeland Security was committed to pursuing an agreement.” Laura Strimple, a spokesperson for Pillen, emphasized the governor’s support for border security, saying, “The opportunity to support President Trump and the Department of Homeland Security’s initiative to protect U.S. citizens, and provide a place for the detention of criminal illegal aliens, is an extension of those efforts.”
Despite the political leanings of Red Willow County, opposition to the plan has been vocal and visible. Dozens of Nebraska residents attended the public hearing, most expressing concerns about overcrowding, the welfare of current inmates, and the lack of local input. Many worry about the impact on the community, which has come to rely on the camp’s work programs and values the role it plays in rehabilitation.
Underlying the debate is a broader tension between state and local authority, executive power, and legislative oversight. The Nebraska prison system is already one of the nation’s most overcrowded and understaffed, and critics argue that adding hundreds of immigration detainees could push it to the breaking point. The transition’s financial implications are also unclear—while the state expects federal reimbursement, the absence of a signed agreement leaves many wondering who will ultimately foot the bill if things go awry.
For now, the future of the McCook Work Ethic Camp hangs in the balance. Will it become the Midwest’s latest immigration detention hub, or will local and legislative resistance force a reevaluation? One thing is certain: as the Cornhusker Clink saga unfolds, Nebraskans are demanding answers—and a say in decisions that will reshape their community for years to come.
