Florida International University (FIU) is at the center of a mounting storm over its involvement with the controversial "Alligator Alcatraz" immigration detention facility, a saga that has drawn in state officials, university faculty, environmental groups, and the Miccosukee Tribe. The facility, located deep in the Florida Everglades, has become a flashpoint for debates over immigration enforcement, environmental stewardship, academic values, and workers’ rights.
The controversy erupted into public view after Prism and NBC6 reported that FIU provided an emergency operations trailer to "Alligator Alcatraz" during its construction. University President Jeanette Nuñez, in an interview with NBC6 anchor Jackie Nespral, confirmed the equipment was supplied at the request of the state’s Department of Emergency Management, which owns the trailer and oversees the facility. "It is a state asset, let’s be clear," Nuñez said. "When the Department of Emergency Management requests a state asset, we have to provide it. We don’t opine, we don’t object. People want to make more out of it than what it was."
But for FIU faculty and staff, Nuñez’s explanation fell flat. According to Prism, workers expressed concern about the order, and the faculty union president Tania Cepero López argued that the administration’s stance does little to address the deeper issue: FIU’s growing entanglement with immigration enforcement. "FIUPD is ICE," Cepero López said, referencing the university police department’s new role under a 287(g) agreement that deputizes campus police as Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) agents. "The faculty are amazing, the students are wonderful, smart, and dedicated, and they deserve the best education in the world."
The 287(g) agreement, finalized earlier this year, has only heightened fears on campus. President Nuñez defended the move, insisting it gives FIU greater control over any potential ICE presence. "If ICE wants to come on campus, regardless of the agreement, they will come," she told NBC6. "So they do have access to come into our campus. The police chief took the position, and I supported him, that he wanted to be in control [of] the situation from the get-go."
Yet, according to internal emails reviewed by Prism, faculty have been pressing for months for clear guidance on what to do if ICE enters classrooms. Only on August 22 did FIU issue a formal response: ICE can access public areas and classrooms with a warrant, consent, or in exigent circumstances. Faculty are instructed not to obstruct ICE and to notify FIU police. However, the university stated there are "no plans to provide notifications" of ICE operations in advance. "The main priority right now is compliance, so that there’s no retaliation, so that we don’t lose funding, so that we don’t lose any more grants, so that we don’t lose courses in the curriculum," Cepero López explained. "There’s a lot of interference and a lot of oversight happening that, to me, is unprecedented."
The sense of unease is palpable, especially among international and undocumented students. Faculty report receiving anxious questions about what happens if ICE enters a classroom, and some students are even considering staying away from campus. The uncertainty is exacerbated by Florida’s broader restrictions on curriculum and diversity initiatives. "Faculty are wondering, what’s the next thing that we’re going to be forced to do?" Cepero López asked. "The morale is as low as I’ve ever seen it."
FIU’s reputation as a beacon for immigrant and international students is now in question. As Miami’s public research university, FIU has historically drawn students and faculty from across Latin America and the Caribbean. But professors warn that the university’s collaboration with ICE threatens that legacy.
Efforts to open a dialogue with FIU leadership have been rebuffed. On August 18, the United Faculty of Florida (UFF-FIU) union invited top administrators—including President Nuñez and Police Chief Alexander Casas—to a community town hall scheduled for September 9 to discuss the ICE agreement and the university’s provision of state-owned assets. Four days later, the administration declined, citing prior public forums and interviews as sufficient. In a letter, Associate Vice President of Academic Affairs Barbara Manzano wrote, "Please feel free to use this response at the forum, in lieu of our attendance." Cepero López responded, "I told them we’re going to do the town hall with or without you."
Simultaneously, contract negotiations between FIU and its faculty have grown tense. Faculty say the administration has refused to honor previously negotiated raises, citing legislative funding shortfalls, and instead offered one-time bonuses tied to performance. "We’re at that point where we are tired of being asked to do more with less, and we’re just not going to continue to do that anymore," Cepero López told Prism. The raises in question would have provided a 2% increase across the board and an additional 1.5% merit raise, which, though modest, were seen as a baseline commitment in the face of Miami’s rising cost of living. Instead, FIU proposed bonuses as low as $1,500 for "satisfactory" performance and $3,000 for "outstanding" reviews—amounts that do not contribute to base salaries, leaving faculty pay stagnant.
At the most recent bargaining session on August 29, FIU offered a recurring 1% raise or $1,000 for nine-month faculty, plus merit bonuses. While the union acknowledged the adjustment, FIU remains the only preeminent Florida public university that initially offered no recurring salary increase this year. Other institutions, such as the University of West Florida, have made more competitive offers. The union will reconvene with administrators ahead of a ratification vote on September 16 and 17.
Meanwhile, the "Alligator Alcatraz" facility itself faces an uncertain future. On August 21, U.S. District Judge Kathleen Williams issued a preliminary injunction halting construction and operations, ordering the population to be reduced within 60 days and for fencing, lighting, and generators to be removed. The lawsuit that prompted the ruling was brought by Friends of the Everglades, the Center for Biological Diversity, and the Miccosukee Tribe, who argued that the project violated the National Environmental Policy Act by proceeding without an environmental impact study.
For the Miccosukee Tribe, the issue also strikes at the heart of sovereignty. William "Popeye" Osceola, the tribe’s secretary, said, "Justice for us is people’s sovereign rights being respected on all levels. It reminds us that as much as the system is geared against us, there are still mechanisms we can engage with to fight for what we know is right, including our rights to this land. But it’s also a sovereignty issue." Osceola criticized the state and federal governments for circumventing established consultation processes that the tribe helped create to protect both their interests and those of all Floridians.
Despite the court order, Florida Governor Ron DeSantis remains defiant. At a press conference in Orlando on September 2, DeSantis insisted the facility is "open and operational" and that deportations are continuing. He called Judge Williams’ ruling "very partisan" and said the Department of Homeland Security has not sent more undocumented immigrants to the facility since the ruling. A federal court hearing on the legal rights of detainees is set for Thursday, September 4, in Fort Myers.
The facility, built in a rush this summer to support President Donald Trump’s immigration enforcement push, cost more than $245 million and can hold up to 3,000 detainees. Its isolated location in sensitive wetlands has drawn criticism from environmentalists and advocates, who argue that the site’s construction and operation threaten endangered species and violate federal laws.
As the legal and political battles continue, those most affected—students, faculty, tribal members, and detainees—are left grappling with uncertainty. For many, the university’s handling of these controversies feels like decisions imposed from above, without meaningful input from those on the ground. "I don’t understand why they can’t communicate to us why this is happening and we have to hear from Jackie Nespral interviewing our president," Cepero López lamented. "That’s not what accountability looks like."
The fate of "Alligator Alcatraz," and the values it has come to symbolize, now hangs in the balance.
