Florida’s controversial immigration detention center, known as “Alligator Alcatraz,” is on the brink of closure after a whirlwind two months of operation, fierce legal battles, and mounting criticism over its location and conditions. Emails obtained by the Associated Press and confirmed by involved parties reveal that the facility, located deep in the Everglades at the former Dade-Collier Training and Transition Airport within the Big Cypress National Preserve, will likely be empty of detainees within days—well ahead of a federal judge’s deadline for its full shutdown by late October 2025.
The dramatic turn comes after a federal judge in Miami, Kathleen Williams, ordered the center to wind down operations and remove all detainees within 60 days, following a lawsuit spearheaded by environmental groups and the Miccosukee Tribe. These groups argued that the facility not only threatened the fragile wetlands—home to protected plants and animals—but also jeopardized decades of environmental restoration efforts that have cost billions of dollars. The judge’s ruling halted further expansion of the site and mandated the removal of fencing, lighting, and generators once the population dropped to zero.
Florida Division of Emergency Management Executive Director Kevin Guthrie, whose agency oversaw the construction and operation of the site, communicated the imminent closure in an August 22 email to South Florida Rabbi Mario Rojzman. “We are probably going to be down to 0 individuals within a few days,” Guthrie wrote, referencing the diminishing need for chaplaincy services. Both Rojzman and the executive assistant who sent the original email confirmed the message’s authenticity to the Associated Press.
At its height, “Alligator Alcatraz”—a nickname that stuck due to its isolated, swampy location—held nearly 1,000 detainees. The facility had been rapidly constructed and officially opened on July 1, 2025, with a stated capacity of up to 3,000, as part of immigration enforcement policies initiated during former President Donald Trump’s administration. However, by late August, only 300 to 350 detainees remained, according to U.S. Representative Maxwell Frost, D-Fla., who toured the center just days before the closure news broke. Most remaining detainees were reportedly transferred to other immigration detention centers, while at least 100 had been deported, according to lawsuits filed against the facility.
The closure order did not come without resistance. The state of Florida, under Republican Governor Ron DeSantis, quickly appealed Judge Williams’ decision. The federal government, for its part, requested a stay on the judge’s order pending appeal, arguing that the thousands of beds at the Everglades facility were desperately needed due to overcrowding at other Florida detention centers. Environmental groups and the Miccosukee Tribe, however, opposed the request, contesting the necessity of the facility—especially as Florida plans to open a second detention center in the north of the state, which DeSantis has dubbed the “Deportation Depot.”
DeSantis, questioned about the closure in Orlando, attributed the declining detainee population to an uptick in deportations by the Department of Homeland Security. “Ultimately it’s DHS’s decision where they want to process and stage detainees and it’s their decision about when they want to bring them out,” he said, acknowledging that ongoing litigation could be “an influence” on the pace of removals. However, federal attorneys countered in legal filings that “any decision” to detain unauthorized immigrants at the center “would be Florida’s decision, not DHS’s,” emphasizing the state’s control over the facility, which operated using state funds on state lands under emergency authority.
Legal challenges to “Alligator Alcatraz” have been fierce and multifaceted. Three separate lawsuits have targeted the facility’s practices, with claims ranging from environmental destruction to severe violations of detainees’ rights. Civil rights attorneys described “severe problems” at the center that were “previously unheard-of in the immigration system.” According to court filings and media reports, detainees were held for weeks without charges, disappeared from ICE’s online detainee locator, and were denied initial custody or bond determinations. Conditions inside the facility were described as dire: detainees reported worms in their food, toilets that didn’t flush, floors flooded with fecal waste, and swarms of mosquitoes and other insects everywhere.
Elise Pautler Bennett, a senior attorney for the Center for Biological Diversity—one of the organizations behind the lawsuits—questioned the government’s assertion that closing the facility would “compromise the government’s ability to enforce immigration laws.” She told The Economic Times, “If it was that hard, they wouldn’t have done it, for the most part.” The speed with which the facility is being emptied, she argued, undermines claims of its necessity.
The financial costs of the project have also drawn scrutiny. By late July 2025, Florida officials had signed more than $245 million in contracts for the construction and operation of the detention center. The facility, built on a lightly used, single-runway training airport, was intended to be a centerpiece of the state’s immigration enforcement efforts. Yet, with its abrupt closure, critics say those investments have yielded little more than controversy and legal headaches.
As the deadline for closure approaches, the future of large-scale immigration detention in Florida remains uncertain. While the state presses ahead with plans for a new facility upstate, environmental advocates and the Miccosukee Tribe have vowed to keep fighting for the protection of Florida’s unique ecosystems and the rights of detainees. Meanwhile, the rapid emptying of “Alligator Alcatraz” stands as a testament to the power of legal action and public scrutiny to force change, even in the face of significant political and financial interests.
With the last detainees set to leave within days and the facility’s dismantling on the horizon, the saga of “Alligator Alcatraz” closes a contentious chapter in Florida’s immigration and environmental history—one that leaves lingering questions about oversight, accountability, and the balance between enforcement and human rights.
