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    A private prison firm wants to detain immigrants in this Kansas town. Its residents are pushing back

    It was a lovely May evening in Leavenworth, Kansas, but instead of strolling along the Missouri River or gardening, a group of locals sat on squeaky folding chairs at the public library to discuss their mission: how to stop a private prison behemoth from warehousing immigrants down the road.This was happening in a famously pro-prison town, home to one of the oldest federal penitentiaries, and where Donald Trump won more than 60% of the vote in 2024. Besides the military and the Veterans Affairs medical center, prisons are the largest employer in this community, 30 miles north-west of Kansas City. With federal immigration detention facilities around the country packed due to the Trump administration’s mass deportation efforts, the private prison industry is experiencing a boom. Stock prices of companies such as GEO Group and CoreCivic soared as they gained scores of contracts.But when CoreCivic applied earlier this year for a permit in Leavenworth to reopen a prison with a troubled history to hold immigration detainees, city officials balked. And local residents – including some former prison employees – pushed back.That evening at the library, the citizens waited to hear whether a federal judge would decide if Leavenworth had the right to tell CoreCivic to buzz off. Regardless of what happened in court, organizers of this “teach-in” were preparing attendees for the next possible round of the fight. Over homemade chocolate chip cookies and sun tea, they talked about how to get letters published in the Leavenworth Times and reminded attendees to politely pester elected officials.Local organizer (and cookie baker) Rick Hammett suggested to the crowd that political and corporate interests had stirred fears of immigrants ahead of the 2024 election cycle to benefit private prisons.“To be profitable, private prison firms must ensure that prisons are not only built but also filled,” Hammett said. “Which is how you end up with a scare tactic over migrants to drum up a reason to put people in jail.”In early June, US Immigration and Customs Enforcement reported the most immigrant arrests in a single day in its history: more than 2,200 people.Ashley Hernandez, an organizer for the Sisters of Charityof Leavenworth, lamented that CoreCivic has portrayed those who oppose the Ice detention facility as “out-of-town” agitators. But this room is full of locals, she noted. “They’re the outside organization.”The Sisters of Charity is a Catholic convent – they prefer the term “community” – that has been in Leavenworth longer than the prisons – even before statehood. Part of the Sisters’ mission is to “advocate for justice and systemic change” for exploited and marginalized people, Hernandez later explained.View image in fullscreenThe nuns “understand the history of injustices that have gone on in that prison, and they’ve never been OK with that”, she said.Leavenworth’s landmarks hint at a progressive past that dates to at least the 1850s, when Kansas opposed slavery and fought for admission to the US as a free state. The effort’s most radical proposal was the “Leavenworth constitution” which asserted that “all men are by nature equally free and independent”. Leavenworth’s city hall has statues of Lady Liberty and Abraham Lincoln; a nearby park has a plaque for women’s suffragist Susan B Anthony, who spent time here with her newspaper publisher brother. The landscape is dotted with little reminders that people who don’t have power can always fight for it.Many locals remember what happened when CoreCivic previously ran the detention center, housing mostly pretrial detainees for the US marshals from 1992-2021. They recall guards who were permanently injured by prisoner attacks and understaffing that undermined security, according to a federal audit.Mike Trapp, a local writer and activist who reserved the room for the library teach-in, said he’s seen some softening recently among his neighbors who were Trump voters. Even those who support the mass deportations “are on our side in not trusting CoreCivic to do the right thing”, he said.Scandals plagued the facility during its final years of operation – beatings, stabbings, suicides and alleged sexual assaults, according to court records. Leavenworth police said they were blocked at the gate from investigating crimes inside. The facility finally closed in 2021 as the Biden administration shifted away from private prison contracts.The city changed its ordinance since CoreCivic initially opened a prison here, just six miles south of the federal government’s own massive medium-security penitentiary, which has been operating since 1903. The rules now require a new prison operator to seek a city permit. CoreCivic paid a fee and applied for a permit in February to reopen its facility, now called the Midwest Regional Reception Center. But the firm quickly reversed course as residents’ opposition mounted.CoreCivic argued in court filings that because it retained employees in Leavenworth, it never really closed – and didn’t need a permit to reopen the facility. City leaders responded by suing in federal court, and then state court, seeking to block CoreCivic from repopulating the facility. In filings, the city argued the company previously ran an “absolute hell hole”, and the infamous American prison town did not want this one.In an editorial in the Kansas Reflector, critics of reopening the prison fumed: “CoreCivic has repeatedly shown that it is incapable of running a humane facility. Now, the company flouts city approval to move forward with an ICE center based on false promises.”View image in fullscreenSome in Leavenworth opposed the new facility because they feared undocumented immigrants could be released locally, leading CoreCivic to repeatedly promise that any agreement with Ice would strictly prohibit that.In early June, a state district judge sided with the city and issued a temporary injunction, saying the company needed a permit.David Waters, a lawyer for the city, said the case is about following the permitting process and not about “immigration policy, writ large”.A week later, CoreCivic filed a motion asking the district court judge to reconsider, arguing that the city failed to prove reopening the facility would cause “irreparable” future harm or that the company needed a permit.Leaders at CoreCivic have dismissed critics, saying the company has had more than 1,600 applicants for 300 jobs with a starting salary of $28.25 an hour, plus benefits.“We maintain the position that our facility, which we’ve operated for almost 30 years, does not require a Special Use Permit to care for detainees in partnership with ICE,” said Ryan Gustin, senior director of public affairs, in an email.He touted the company’s promises to Leavenworth: a one-time impact fee of $1m, a $250,000 annual fee and an additional $150,000 annual fee to the police department. This is in addition to the over $1m in annual property taxes CoreCivic already pays, Gustin said.The Reception Center originally expected “residents” as of 1 June. The company has posted numerous photos of its warden handing out $10,000 checks to veteran’s causes and the Salvation Army.In legal filings, CoreCivic argued that preventing the opening of its 1,000-plus bed facility would cost it more than $4m a month. In a federal financial disclosure filed in May, the company stated its letter agreement for the Leavenworth facility with Ice authorized payment up to nearly $23m for a six-month period “while the parties work to negotiate and execute a long-term contract”.Gustin said most of the concerns about safety and security of the facility were “concentrated in an 18-month period” over 30 years of operations and attributed staffing shortages to the Covid-19 pandemic and a tight labor market. “As with any difficult situation, we sought to learn from it,” he said.When CoreCivic previously operated the Leavenworth detention center, Tina Shonk-Little was detained there for about 16 months for insurance fraud. She described for the crowd that night at the Leavenworth library how medical and dental care in the facility was scant.“If you had a toothache, they just pulled it,” she said. Her smile bears the scars.View image in fullscreenShe recoiled when Hammett cited public records showing CoreCivic’s CEO earned more than $7m last year. Corporate leaders at CoreCivic and GEO Group gushed on recent earnings calls about the “unprecedented opportunity” they’re facing with Trump in office. Ads and text messages show CoreCivic is offering new guards $2,500 signing bonuses.Across the river in rural Missouri, cash-strapped sheriff’s departments are signing up to hold Ice detainees in small jails for $110 per night, per head, and to transport them as far as Kansas City for $1.10 per mile. Emails obtained through public records requests show that about a week after Trump was elected, CoreCivic leadership began contacting Leavenworth city officials about reopening their facility there.“They don’t want to do better. They are in it for profit,” Shonk-Little said. “They could give two shits about the people. The more people they have, the better off they are because it’s more money in their pocket.”Shonk-Little expressed sympathy for the corrections officers who worked there. “God bless the corrections officers who did what they could with what they had,” she said.Toward the back of the room sat Bill Rogers, a brick wall of a man who spends nearly two hours a day in the gym. He was one of those guards. A few minutes after her speech, Rogers stood suddenly, looking like a frog was lodged in his throat, as his eyes welled with tears.He spoke directly to Shonk-Little: “What courage … to come here. And everything you said was right. It was true. I remember. And as a former officer, I apologize. That’s all I can say.”She responded: “I’m sorry you were treated the way you were treated also.”They hugged.At a coffee shop the next morning, Rogers explained he was a high school dropout and heavy equipment operator who thought $20 an hour, plus benefits, working for CoreCivic sounded like a good gig.“I just needed a job,” he recalled. He started working as a correctional officer in 2016 and initially loved it.“I bet you 85% of those inmates I met? I would have hung out with them on the street. They were just decent people who made a mistake. I really believe that,” he said.Not long after Rogers started, the voluntary overtime shifts became mandatory. A 2017 audit by the Department of Justice found that understaffing was hurting safety and security at the facility. In recent court filings, lawyers for Leavenworth accused CoreCivic of gross mismanagement of the previous facility, resulting in “rampant abuse, violence and violations of the constitutional rights of its detainees and staff”.They referenced one incident in November 2018, when CoreCivic didn’t report the death of an inmate to city police for six days.It’s that death that haunts Rogers’ dreams. Dillon Reed was only 29 when he ended up at the Leavenworth facility on a drug charge, but Rogers remembered he was a funny, sweet kid who reminded him of his adult son.View image in fullscreen“He made me laugh,” Rogers said.Reed had an addiction, and alcohol and drugs were rampant inside the prison, Rogers said. On Thanksgiving Day in 2018, Reed was found dead in his cell. Rogers was working in a different section of the facility, but he was called to remove Reed’s body from his cell. An autopsy later showed that Reed likely died of sudden cardiac death, with a mixture of alcohol and drugs in his system.Rogers still can’t talk about it without getting choked up. Calling an ambulance quickly could have saved Reed, he said.“When that door came open? I didn’t see an inmate. I saw a young man … and I saw my son,” he said. “I don’t care that he was an inmate … he was a human soul. He shouldn’t have died. We had a job to do, and it didn’t happen that day.”In 2020, Rogers was stabbed in the hand and had his head split open with a cafeteria tray by combative prisoners. Later that year, he was so fed up with the lack of security, he said, that when a prisoner came at him, he shoved the man against the wall – and was fired.Some of Rogers’ former detention officer friends will not talk to him anymore, because he’s been speaking out, he said. He said they tell him: “You didn’t do shit when you worked there, and now you’re running your mouth.”Marcia Levering, a former CoreCivic colleague of Rogers, is also speaking out about the attack by a prisoner that nearly killed her. She was working in February 2021, shortly before the facility closed, when a colleague opened the wrong security door. A prisoner who was angry at her beat her senselessly and stabbed her multiple times. She spent two months in the hospital and is now permanently disabled, struggling to pay her rent.“They’re not looking out for the safety of their inmates or staff,” Levering said of CoreCivic. “They’re looking out for their own self-interest, which is taking the taxpayers’ money to line the pockets of their higher-ups.”Lawyers for the city of Leavenworth filed a motion last week asking the state district judge to formalize the temporary injunction. The motion states that the “federal government might apply pressure on CoreCivic to defy or look for loopholes in this Court’s orders”, while noting that the company has “accelerated” activity at the detention center.Meanwhile, residents are planning a march against the detention center on 19 July. They plan to meet 10 days earlier at MoMos to make homemade protest signs.

    This article was published in partnership with The Marshall Project, a non-profit news organization covering the US criminal justice system. Sign up for their newsletters, and follow them on Instagram, TikTok, Reddit and Facebook More

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    Not just Alcatraz: the notorious US prisons Trump is already reopening

    Donald Trump’s proposal to reopen Alcatraz, the infamous prison shuttered more than 60 years ago, sparked global headlines over the weekend. But it isn’t the only notorious closed-down jail or prison the administration has sought to repurpose for mass detentions.The US government has in recent months pushed to reopen at least five other shuttered detention facilities and prisons, some closed amid concerns over safety and mistreatment of detainees. While California lawmakers swiftly dismissed the Alcatraz announcement as “not serious” and a distraction, the Trump administration’s efforts to reopen other scandal-plagued facilities are well under way or already complete, in partnership with for-profit prison corporations.The shuttered prisons are being revived for immigration detainees, unlike the US president’s purported plan for Alcatraz, which he claimed on social media would imprison “America’s most ruthless and violent Offenders”.US Immigrations and Customs Enforcement (Ice) has sought to reopen the California city correctional facility, a state prison in the southern California desert region that closed last year, according to government contract records. The facility is owned by CoreCivic, a longtime Ice detention partner, and previously housed more than 2,000 people.California Democrats have also warned that Ice was interested in reopening Federal Correctional Institution (FCI) Dublin, a US prison shuttered last year amid scandals surrounding systemic sexual abuse by staff, and concerns about mold and asbestos. The correctional officers’ union has reported that staff were recently forced to do maintenance work at Dublin in hazardous conditions, seemingly to prepare for a reopening, but Ice and the Federal Bureau of Prisons (BoP), which runs Dublin, have not commented on plans.Communities in California, the country’s most populous state and home to nearly a quarter of immigrants in the US, have long opposed Ice detention centers, and there are currently no Ice jails in the state north of Bakersfield in the Central Valley, said Susan Beaty, senior attorney for the California Collaborative for Immigrant Justice.View image in fullscreen“When there are fewer beds for Ice to incarcerate people, there are fewer arrests and less enforcement,” said Beaty, who represents people in Ice and BoP detention. “We don’t want Ice to expand their ability to cage our community members, because we know that will lead to more incarceration and allow them to terrorize our communities even further.”In rural Lake county, Michigan, Geo Group, another prison corporation, is reopening the closed North Lake correctional facility, which has capacity for 1,800 people and would be the largest immigration detention center in the midwest, according to the local news site MLive.com. Over the years, the facility has housed imprisoned teenage boys, out-of-state incarcerated people and immigrants. But it has sat dormant since it closed in 2022 under the Biden administration.In 2020, detainees at North Lake went on a hunger strike, alleging they were denied access to their mail and religiously appropriate food, their complaint paperwork was destroyed, and they were placed in extended solitary confinement. Geo Group denied the claims at the time.In Newark, New Jersey, Geo Group has recently reopened the closed Delaney Hall facility for immigration detainees even as the company faces a pending lawsuit from the city alleging it failed to file required construction permits or allow inspectors inside, according to news site NorthJersey.com.“They are following the pattern of the president … who believes that he can just do what he wants to do and obscure the laws,” Newark’s mayor, Ras Baraka, said on Monday.Christopher Ferreira, a Geo Group spokesperson, said in an email that the firm had a “valid certificate of occupancy” and complied with health and safety requirements. The mayor’s opposition was “another unfortunate example of a politicized campaign by sanctuary city and open borders politicians in New Jersey to interfere with the federal government”, he added.In a December 2024 earnings call, Geo Group said it was in “active discussions” with Ice and the US Marshals Service about their interest in six of its facilities that were idle.In Leavenworth, Kansas, CoreCivic is working to reopen an immigration detention center closed in 2021 under Joe Biden. The proposal for the Midwest Regional Reception Center (MRRC) has sparked backlash from the city of Leavenworth, which sued CoreCivic in March, alleging the company has not followed the proper permitting protocols.View image in fullscreenIn 2021, the ACLU alleged that the Leavenworth facility was beset by problems, including frequent stabbings, suicides and contraband, and that “basic human needs [were] not being met”, with food restricted, contact with counsel and family denied or curtailed, limited medical care and infrequent showers. A federal judge called the facility a “hellhole”.Ryan Gustin, a CoreCivic spokesperson, defended the company’s decades of operations in Leavenworth in an email on Monday, saying understaffing amid the pandemic “was the main contributor to the challenges” and “the issues were concentrated in about an 18-month period”: “We’re grateful for a more stable labor market post-pandemic, and we’ve had a positive response with nearly 1,400 [applicants] expressing interest in one of the 300 positions the facility will create.“At any of our facilities, including MRRC, we don’t cut corners on care, staff or training, which meets, and in many cases exceeds, our government partners’ standards,” he said. He also pointed to a recent op-ed by the warden, who argued the facility “is and always has been properly zoned”.CoreCivic also reopened a family detention center in Texas last month.The use of shuttered prisons is just one way Ice is expanding detention for Trump’s mass deportations. He has also moved immigration detainees into BoP facilities currently housing criminal defendants, causing concerns about poor conditions, rights violations and a lack of basic resources as staff manage multiple populations under one roof. Trump has also pushed to expand local jail contracts and use military bases for Ice.Eunice Cho, senior staff attorney at the ACLU’s National Prison Project, which has obtained public records on Ice’s expanding detention, said Ice was ignoring safety concerns in previously shuttered facilities.“This is a continuing pattern of the Trump administration’s willingness to knowingly place immigrants in detention facilities already well-known for having dangerous conditions,” she said. “They’re putting people in facilities where the conditions are so dire … that people simply give up their valid claims of relief to stay in the United States.”There is growing local backlash to these facilities, Cho added: “When people realize what is happening in these facilities, it’s not something they want to see up close. People are becoming very aware that billions of dollars are being spent to enrich private prison companies to hold people in abysmal conditions … including their neighbors, co-workers and friends.”Ice did not respond to a request for comment on Monday.Donald Murphy, a BoP spokesperson, did not answer questions about the reported reopening of Dublin for Ice. William K Marshall III, BoP director, said in a statement that the bureau would “vigorously pursue all avenues to support and implement the president’s agenda” and had ordered an “immediate assessment” to determine “our needs and the next steps” for Alcatraz: “We look forward to restoring this powerful symbol of law, order, and justice.”Corene Kendrick, ACLU National Prison Project deputy director, dismissed Trump’s Alcatraz statement as a “stunt”, noting that the prison’s cellblock has no running water or sewage and limited electricity.“I don’t know if we can call it a ‘proposal’, because that implies actual thought was put into it,” she said. “It’s completely far-fetched and preposterous, and it would be impossible to reopen those ancient, crumbling buildings as anything resembling a functioning prison.” More

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    Trump says he will reopen Alcatraz prison for ‘most ruthless offenders’

    Donald Trump has said he is directing his government to reopen and expand Alcatraz, the notorious former prison on an island off San Francisco that has been closed for more than 60 years.In a post on his Truth Social site on Sunday evening, Trump wrote: “For too long, America has been plagued by vicious, violent, and repeat Criminal Offenders, the dregs of society, who will never contribute anything other than Misery and Suffering. When we were a more serious Nation, in times past, we did not hesitate to lock up the most dangerous criminals, and keep them far away from anyone they could harm. That’s the way it’s supposed to be.”He added: “That is why, today, I am directing the Bureau of Prisons, together with the Department of Justice, FBI, and Homeland Security, to reopen a substantially enlarged and rebuilt ALCATRAZ, to house America’s most ruthless and violent Offenders.”Trump’s directive to rebuild and reopen the long-shuttered penitentiary is the latest salvo in his effort to overhaul how and where federal prisoners and immigration detainees are locked up.But such a move would likely be expensive and challenging. The prison was closed in 1963 due to crumbling infrastructure and the high cost of repairing and supplying the island facility, because everything from fuel to food had to be brought by boat.Bringing the facility up to modern-day standards would require massive investment at a time when the Federal Bureau of Prisons has been shuttering prisons for similar infrastructure issues.The island is now a major tourist site that is operated by the National Park Service and is a designated national historic landmark.The former House speaker Nancy Pelosi, a California Democrat whose district includes the island, questioned the feasibility of reopening the prison. “It is now a very popular national park and major tourist attraction. The President’s proposal is not a serious one,” she wrote on X.The prison – which was considered inescapable due to the strong ocean currents and cold Pacific waters that surround it – was known as “the Rock” and housed some of the nation’s most notorious criminals, including Al Capone and George “Machine Gun” Kelly.In the 29 years it was open, 36 men attempted 14 separate escapes, according to the FBI. Nearly all were caught or did not survive.The fates of three inmates – the brothers John and Clarence Anglin, and Frank Morris – are the subject of some debate, with their story dramatised in the 1979 film Escape from Alcatraz starring Clint Eastwood.skip past newsletter promotionafter newsletter promotionA spokesperson for the Bureau of Prisons said in a statement that the agency “will comply with all presidential orders”. They did not immediately answer questions from the Associated Press regarding the practicality and feasibility of reopening Alcatraz or the agency’s possible role in the future of the former prison given the National Park Service’s control of the island.The order comes as Trump has been clashing with the courts as he tries to send accused gang members to a maximum-security prison in El Salvador, without due process. Trump has also floated the legally dubious idea of sending some federal US prisoners to the Terrorism Confinement Center, known as CECOT.Trump also directed the opening of a detention centre at Guantánamo Bay in Cuba, to hold up to 30,000 of what he has called the “worst criminal aliens”. More

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    The United States is witnessing the return of psychiatric imprisonment | Jordyn Jensen

    Across the country, a troubling trend is accelerating: the return of institutionalization – rebranded, repackaged and framed as “modern mental health care”. From Governor Kathy Hochul’s push to expand involuntary commitment in New York to Robert F Kennedy Jr’s proposal for “wellness farms” under his Make America Healthy Again (Maha) initiative, policymakers are reviving the logics of confinement under the guise of care.These proposals may differ in form, but they share a common function: expanding the state’s power to surveil, detain and “treat” marginalized people deemed disruptive or deviant. Far from offering real support, they reflect a deep investment in carceral control – particularly over disabled, unhoused, racialized and LGBTQIA+ communities. Communities that have often seen how the framing of institutionalization as “treatment” obscures both its violent history and its ongoing legacy. In doing so, these policies erase community-based solutions, undermine autonomy, and reinforce the very systems of confinement they claim to move beyond.Take Hochul’s proposal, which seeks to lower the threshold for involuntary psychiatric hospitalization in New York. Under her plan, individuals could be detained not because they pose an imminent danger, but because they are deemed unable to meet their basic needs due to a perceived “mental illness”. This vague and subjective standard opens the door to sweeping state control over unhoused people, disabled peopleand others struggling to survive amid systemic neglect. Hochul also proposes expanding the authority to initiate forced treatment to a broader range of professionals – including psychiatric nurse practitioners – and would require practitioners to factor in a person’s history, in effect pathologizing prior distress as grounds for future detention.This is not a fringe proposal. It builds on a growing wave of reinstitutionalization efforts nationwide. In 2022, New York City’s mayor, Eric Adams, directed police and EMTs to forcibly hospitalize people deemed “mentally ill”, even without signs of imminent danger. In California, Governor Gavin Newsom’s Care courts compel people into court-ordered “treatment”.Now, these efforts are being turbocharged at the federal level. RFK Jr’s Maha initiative proposes labor-based “wellness farms” as a response to homelessness and addiction – an idea that eerily echoes the institutional farms of the 20th century, where disabled people and people of color were confined, surveilled and exploited under the guise of rehabilitation.Just recently, the US Department of Health and Human Services (HHS) announced a sweeping restructuring that will dismantle critical agencies and consolidate power under a new “Administration for a Healthy America” (AHA). Aligned with RFK Jr’s Maha initiative and Donald Trump’s “department of government efficiency” directive, the plan merges the Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration (SAMHSA), the Health Resources and Services Administration (HRSA) and other agencies into a centralized structure ostensibly focused on combating chronic illness. But through this restructuring – and the mass firing of HHS employees – the federal government is gutting the specialized infrastructure that supports mental health, disability services and low-income communities.The restructuring is already under way: 20,000 jobs have been eliminated, regional offices slashed, and the Administration for Community Living (ACL) dissolved its vital programs for older adults and disabled people scattered across other agencies with little clarity or accountability. This is not administrative streamlining; it is a calculated dismantling of protections and supports, cloaked in the rhetoric of efficiency and reform. SAMHSA – a pillar of the country’s behavioral health system, responsible for coordinating addiction services, crisis response and community mental health care – is being gutted, threatening programs such as the 988 crisis line and opioid treatment access. These moves reflect not just austerity, but a broader governmental strategy of manufactured confusion. By dissolving the very institutions tasked with upholding the rights and needs of disabled and low-income people, the federal government is laying the groundwork for a more expansive – and less accountable – system of carceral “care”.This new era of psychiatric control is being marketed as a moral imperative. Supporters insist there is a humanitarian duty to intervene – to “help” people who are suffering. But coercion is not care. Decades of research show that involuntary (forced) psychiatric interventions often lead to trauma, mistrust, and poorer health outcomes. Forced hospitalization has been linked to increased suicide risk and long-term disengagement from mental health care. Most critically, it diverts attention from the actual drivers of distress: poverty, housing instability, criminalization, systemic racism and a broken healthcare system.The claim that we simply need more psychiatric beds is a distraction. What we need is a complete paradigm shift – away from coercion and toward collective care. Proven alternatives already exist: housing-first initiatives, non-police and peer-led crisis response teams, harm reduction programs, and voluntary, community-based mental health services. These models prioritize dignity, autonomy and support over surveillance, control and confinement.As Liat Ben-Moshe argues, prisons did not simply replace asylums; rather, the two systems coexist and evolve, working in tandem to surveil, contain and control marginalized populations. Today, reinstitutionalization is returning under a more therapeutic facade: “wellness farms”, court diversion programs, expanded involuntary commitment. The language has changed, but the logic remains the same.This moment demands resistance. We must reject the idea that locking people up is a form of care. These proposals must be named for what they are: state-sanctioned strategies of containment, rooted in ableism, racism and the fear of nonconformity.Real public health does not rely on force. It does not require confining people or pathologizing poverty. It means meeting people’s needs – through housing, community care, healthcare and support systems that are voluntary, accessible and liberatory.As budget negotiations in New York continue to drag on – with expansions to involuntary commitment still on the table – and as RFK Jr advances carceral care proposals at the federal level, we face a critical choice: will we continue the long history of institutional violence, or will we build something better – something rooted in justice, autonomy and collective wellbeing?The future of mental health care – and of human dignity itself – depends on our answer.

    Jordyn Jensen is the executive director of the Center for Racial and Disability Justice at Northwestern Pritzker School of Law More

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    What is a ‘criminal’ immigrant? The word is an American rhetorical trap | Jonathan Ben-Menachem

    Last month, the Trump administration flew 238 Venezuelan immigrants to a brutal prison in El Salvador. Federal officials alleged that the detainees were members of the Tren de Aragua gang, calling them “heinous monsters” ,“criminal aliens”, “the worst of the worst”. The federal government has also revoked visas for a thousand international students over their alleged participation in protests against Israel’s genocide in Palestine. Some were abducted, like Mahmoud Khalil, who has spent more than a month incarcerated in one of the worst jails in the US. Officials alleged that Mahmoud “sided with terrorists … who have killed innocent men, women, and children”.Media reports quickly revealed that the Trump administration is lying about “innocent” people to justify abducting them. But this raises a more important question: if Trump’s victims weren’t “innocent”, does that make them disposable? I worry that emphasizing the innocence of victims creates a rhetorical trap. It’s like carefully digging a pit that the fascists can shove us into.Instead, we should interrogate the fact that the Trump administration chose to target “gang members” and “terrorist supporters” in the first step of its ethnic cleansing project. Criminals and terrorists are the bogeymen animating bipartisan racism against Black, Latino and Arab people, and Trump is weaponizing these myths because many liberals have already written them off as less than human. The political context that enabled US residents to be shipped to El Salvador’s Cecot facility is a bipartisan project more than 50 years in the making, largely unquestioned by people who are rightfully horrified by recent escalations.Allegations of criminality have long been an effective pretext for anti-Black violence in the US – this is the “war on crime”. So long as there are “criminals” to fight, vicious police brutality becomes politically palatable. This is true in blue and red states alike. The gang member is the latest symbol used to dehumanize Black and Latino people, replacing the “superpredator”. In practice, police and prosecutors invoke the specter of monstrous gangs to continue targeting entire neighborhoods while evading allegations of explicit discrimination.You can be added to a gang database because of your tattoos, the color of the clothing you wear or even for using certain emojis on social media. These lists are riddled with errors, sometimes naming toddlers and elders. More commonly, gang databases index the thousands of people – often children – swept up by police because of where they live or whom they socialize with. The consequences of gang policing are devastating: it can lead to federal prosecution or potential deportation, not to mention a lifetime of state harassment.Gang membership isn’t the only tool the Trump administration can use to portray its victims as guilty. When the “war on crime” morphed into the “war on terror”, Arab and Muslim residents suffered from discriminatory surveillance and repression – the “terrorist” category matches the “gang member” category in that it justifies racist dragnet policing practices. The “counter-terrorism” net has already widened, targeting Stop Cop City activists in Atlanta. This problem is not limited to Republicans – liberal politicians and university stakeholders laid the groundwork for Trump’s deportation efforts. Last year, the Anti-Defamation League’s CEO, Jonathan Greenblatt, called student Palestine activists proxies for Iran, and New York City’s mayor, Eric Adams, smeared us as terrorist supporters to justify an incredibly violent police raid.The widening net of who is considered a criminal not only chills dissent among immigrants and activists. It further dehumanizes and renders disposable people who have genuinely committed harm.We must defend the rights of people who do have criminal records. No one deserves to be whisked away to a brutal prison that deprives them of basic human rights – no matter if it’s in El Salvador, Louisiana, California, Pennsylvania or New York. Criminal records and bona fide gang membership don’t turn human beings into monsters. If Trump goes through with his plan of sending citizens to El Salvador, he could initially target people convicted of heinous crimes. This would allow federal officials to ask: “Why do liberals care about pedophiles and murderers?”We should be prepared to defend the basic rights of all of Trump’s targets with our full strength. If a single person becomes disposable, anyone could become the next target. Last week, Trump said he “loved” the idea of sending American “criminals” to El Salvador, and law professors are sounding the alarm about citizen student activists being subjected to terrorism prosecutions. First it will be the “migrant gang member” or “terrorist on a student visa” sent to Cecot. Next it will be the domestic gang member and the terrorist-supporting citizen. Eventually, perhaps any political opponent could be construed as a criminal-terrorist.Trump may not even need to rely on the justice department to criminalize his enemies – dozens of local cops joined the 6 January 2021 putsch at the US Capitol, and local prosecutors have eagerly charged student activists with felonies. This is another reason to avoid the innocence trap: many police love Trump, and law enforcement can very easily make their adversaries seem like criminals.The innocence trap is dangerous because allegations of criminality have always been deployed to justify state violence. If we only defend the “innocent”, the fascists will argue that their victim “was no angel”. An anti-fascist rhetoric that carves out exceptions for imperfect victims is a gift to our opponents.

    Jonathan Ben-Menachem is a PhD candidate in sociology at Columbia University, where he researches the politics of criminalization More

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    Who are the death row executioners? Disgraced doctors, suspended nurses and drunk drivers

    Being an executioner is not the sort of job that gets posted in a local wanted ad. Kids don’t dream about being an executioner when they grow up, and people don’t go to school for it. So how does one become a death row executioner in the US, and who are the people doing it?This was the question I couldn’t help but ask when I began a book project on lethal injection back in 2018. I’m a death penalty researcher, and I was trying to figure out why states are so breathtakingly bad at a procedure that we use on cats and dogs every day. Part of the riddle was who is performing these executions.Seven years later – and with the Trump administration promising more executions to come – I have an answer, sort of.We do not, and for the most part cannot, know precisely who is under the executioner’s hood. State secrecy statutes put the equivalent of a Harry Potter cloak of invisibility over these state-sanctioned killers. But litigation files and investigative journalism have revealed a number of executioners’ identities, allowing us to peek behind the veil of secrecy for a glimpse of who these people are.Consider Missouri’s chief executioner from 1995-2006, Dr Alan Doerhoff, who was responsible for 54 of Missouri’s 65 executions between 1976 and 2006. He didn’t push the syringes – shockingly, non-medical prison guards did that – but he did most everything else. “Nobody will ever do as many [executions] as I have,” he would later boast.Doerhoff’s identity was revealed when a lawyer for a condemned prisoner checked the prison’s chemical dispensary logs and discovered that 2.5 grams of sodium thiopental (the drug used to anesthetize the prisoner) had been used in previous executions. The state’s protocol called for 5 grams, double that amount. The prisoner sued.State officials first told the court that the chemical dispensary logs were wrong. But the next day, they wrote again to “apologize to the court and the parties for providing incorrect information”. The logs were correct. The amount of sodium thiopental being injected was wrong.Troubled by the finding, the court allowed the prisoner’s lawyers to conduct a limited deposition of the state’s chief executioner. The executioner stated under oath that he had problems mixing the drugs, “so right now we’re still improvising”. He also said that he “sometimes transpose[d] numbers”.View image in fullscreen“I am dyslexic,” he explained. “So, it’s not unusual for me to make mistakes.” (Doerhoff later stated that he was not dyslexic, he just sometimes mixed up numbers.)Missouri doubled down on its executioner, telling the court that it was confident in his competence and planned to continue to use him in future executions. But the court rejected the state’s assurances, writing that it was “gravely concerned that a physician who is solely responsible for correctly mixing the drugs which will be responsible for humanely ending the life of condemned inmates has a condition which causes him confusion with regard to numbers”.The state appealed, but soon thereafter, investigative journalism discovered Doerhoff’s identity. Jeremy Kohler with the St Louis Post-Dispatch broke the story in January 2008, and with it came another shocking revelation: Doerhoff had been sued for medical malpractice more than 20 times, and his hospital privileges had been revoked at two hospitals. Doerhoff had also been publicly reprimanded by the state medical board for hiding his malpractice suits from the hospitals where he practiced.All of this was known to the Missouri attorney general’s office when it assured the court of Doerhoff’s professional competence. After oral arguments, the state dropped its appeal of the ruling.The following year, Missouri’s legislature passed a law stating: “A person may not knowingly disclose the identity of a current or former member of an execution team,” authorizing punitive damages for violations.“Their answer to the public finding out they had an incompetent doctor was making it impossible to find out who the doctor is,” an ACLU spokesperson stated.No longer able to serve as Missouri’s executioner, Doerhoff joined the staff of a local hair-removal business and served as an executioner for the federal government and at least one other state – Arizona.Arizona knew about the trial court’s ruling in Missouri, and the facts behind it. But it hired Doerhoff anyway, and he conducted an execution for the state in 2007, just months after being barred from conducting executions in Missouri.When attorneys found out about Doerhoff’s involvement, the prisoners next in line for execution in Arizona sued.Arizona settled that suit in 2009, agreeing to a number of changes in its lethal injection protocol, including formal background and license checks of its executioners. But during the litigation, attorneys for the prisoners discovered that Doerhoff wasn’t the only executioner who had no business conducting executions.One of Arizona’s three IV team executioners was medical team member #3, who was once a nurse but had his nursing license suspended. At the time of the litigation, his occupation was running an appliance business in another state. The identity of medical team member #3 is unknown, but the court noted that he had been arrested multiple times, “including three times in 10 days in Arizona for a DUI in 2007”.Arizona pledged that with its new screening system in place, the court could be confident that the state would use only licensed medical personnel going forward.But in 2011, Arizona was hauled back into federal court because it had not made good on its promise. The prison director admitted to conducting five executions with full knowledge that medical team member #4 did not hold a medical license of any kind. Nor did officials conduct the required criminal history check on him. If they had, they would have learned that medical team member #4 had been charged with DUI in 2008, public intoxication in 2000, and writing a bad check before that.Medical team member #4 was a prison guard who had previously served as a medical corpsman in the military. He later stated that his only screening was a phone call from the warden “asking whether he knew how to start an IV and whether he would have a problem doing it for an execution”. He was not asked any other questions, and at the time, he had not placed an IV for 15 years. On paper, Arizona was dutifully screening its execution team members. But in reality, the state was doing nothing of the sort.View image in fullscreenMissouri and Arizona are not the only states where discoveries about executioners have raised serious questions about the care and competence with which executioners are chosen. In 2006, a federal court struck down California’s lethal injection protocol based in part on the “inconsistent and unreliable screening of execution team members”.The execution team member responsible for the custody of lethal injection drugs had been disciplined for smuggling drugs into San Quentin before joining the execution team; two team members had been arrested for drunk driving; one suffered from depression and PTSD; and one had been out on a two-month medical leave from getting into a fight with a prisoner.The court in California also noted the “extremely troubling” disappearance of sodium thiopental that was ostensibly taken from the prison pharmacy for training purposes but never used and never returned. “These circumstances may warrant investigation by an appropriate law-enforcement agency,” the court wrote. In California, the state’s executioners were also the chief suspects in a potential criminal investigation.The federal government has proven no better than states on this score. Not only did the federal government hire Doerhoff after he was banned from serving as Missouri’s executioner, but it also hired a nurse for the Timothy McVeigh execution who had been charged with felony aggravated stalking and first-degree tampering with property, ultimately pleading no contest to the misdemeanor version of both charges. The nurse had allegedly smashed the windshield and headlights of a man who was seeing his estranged wife, ran over his mailbox, smashed windows of his home, and left voice messages threatening to burn his house down and blow his “[expletive] head off”!Federal officials knew of the convictions when it hired him – the nurse was on active probation and had to get permission from his probation officer to leave the state.“It seems bizarre to me that we would knowingly allow an offender, on active supervision, to participate in the execution process at any level,” a probation supervisor had written while the department was considering the request. But the permission was granted.In an internal memo, the administrator who confirmed the request for travel wrote: “It would be extremely problematic for [the nurse] and this department if the media got wind of this.”And how did this nurse-executioner get on the federal government’s radar? He was recommended by the Missouri department of corrections. A nurse with his own serious criminal convictions was secretly conducting executions on behalf of the show-me state.Lethal injection litigation has likewise revealed patently unfit executioners in other states as well. In Maryland, litigation revealed that one member of the state’s execution team had been fired by a local police department and charged with poisoning several neighborhood dogs, while another execution team member had been suspended for spitting in prisoners’ food.In Tennessee, litigation revealed that a member of the execution team had pleaded guilty, twice, to possession of a controlled substance, and missed an execution because he was at an in-patient treatment program. That was in 2007. In 2021, Tennessee’s physician-executioner stated that he surrendered his surgery accreditation because of “too many malpractice suits” – at least 10 by his estimation.These are just the executioners we know. But they are a chilling indication of the executioners we don’t know. As the former head of Oklahoma’s corrections department told a legislative committee in 2023, the prison staff charged with carrying out executions are “some of the lowest-paid state employees in government”.In executions, as elsewhere, you get what you pay for. Even when a doctor is nominally involved in the execution process, the people injecting the drugs are typically low-level prison employees.Most executioners say they just fell into the job. The opportunity came to them, and they had their reasons for saying yes. For prison guards, it may be a necessary step to moving up the prison ranks. Doctors likewise tend to say they simply slipped into the role. They had agreed to be an observer, but then the medical team needed help. Who were they to watch executioners prick a prisoner a dozen times in a desperate attempt to pierce the vein when they could do it more quickly?One reason doctors aren’t giving, but merits mention anyway, is money. A doctor willing to participate in an execution is a precious commodity, and states will pay dearly for it – up to $20,000 in cash per execution in some places. No doctor yet has said they’re participating in executions for the money. But the fact that they can make a killing from state killing has to be worth something.

    Corinna Lain is the author of Secrets of the Killing State: The Untold Story of Lethal Injection, out on 22 April More

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    The Trump administration trapped a wrongly deported man in a catch-22

    It is difficult to find a term more fitting for the fate of the Maryland father Kilmar Abrego García than Kafkaesque.Abrego García is one of hundreds of foreign-born men deported under the Trump administration to the Cecot mega-prison in El Salvador as part of a macabre partnership with the self-declared “world’s coolest dictator”, Nayib Bukele.The US government has admitted it deported Abrego García by mistake. But instead of “facilitating” his return as ordered by the supreme court, the administration has trapped Abrego García in a catch-22 by offshoring his fate to a jurisdiction beyond the reach of legality – or, it would seem, basic logic or common decency.The paradox is this: the Trump administration says it cannot facilitate the return of Abrego García because he is in a prison in El Salvador. El Salvador says it cannot return him because that would be tantamount to “smuggling” him into the US.The absurdity of the position played out on Monday during an Oval Office meeting between Donald Trump and Bukele where the two men appeared to enjoy mocking the powerlessness of the US courts to intervene in the fate of anyone caught in the maws of the Trump administration’s deportation machine.“How can I smuggle a terrorist into the United States? I’m not going to do it,” Bukele said when asked about whether he would help to return Abrego García.There is no evidence that Abrego García is a terrorist or a member of the gang MS-13 as the Trump administration has claimed. But that is not really important here.“I don’t have the power to return him to the United States,” Bukele said during a meeting with the US president on Monday. “They’d love to have a criminal released into our country,” Trump added.Trump’s lieutenants also jumped in on Monday, arguing that they could not intervene in the case because Bukele is a foreign citizen and outside of their control.skip past newsletter promotionafter newsletter promotion“He is a citizen of El Salvador,” said Stephen Miller, a top Trump aide who regularly advises the president on immigration issues. “It’s very arrogant even for American media to suggest that we would even tell El Salvador how to handle their own citizens.”A district court injunction to halt the deportation was in effect, he added, an order to “kidnap a citizen of El Salvador and fly him back here”.Marco Rubio, the secretary of state, repeated one of the Trump administration’s mantras: that US courts cannot determine Trump’s foreign policy. Increasingly, the administration is including questions of immigration in that foreign policy in order to defy the courts.Monday’s presentation was in effect a pantomime. Both sides could quickly intervene if they wanted to. But this was a means to an end. Miller said this case would not end with Abrego García living in the US.More broadly, it indicates the Trump administration’s modus operandi: to move quickly before the courts can react to its transgressions and, when they do, to deflect and defy until the damage done cannot be reversed. More

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    ‘I escaped one gulag only to end up in another’: Russian asylum seekers face Ice detention in the US

    For most of the four years of Joe Biden was in office, citizens of Russia and other post-Soviet states seeking asylum in the US were generally released into the country while they awaited hearings on their claim in immigration court.But since last summer, many have been detained upon entering the US, and some of them have been held for more than a year, lawyers, activists and detainees say. Some children have been separated from their parents.“My Russian clients tell me, ‘Now our prison is 80% Russian, the remaining 20% are from rotating nationalities who stay for a while,’” said immigration attorney Julia Nikolaev, who has been advocating for detainees’ rights alongside representatives of the Russian opposition. “Only Russians and a few other post-Soviet nationals remain in detention until their final hearings.”Alexei Demin, a 62-year-old former naval officer from Moscow, was detained in July of last year.In the last 20 years, Demin rarely missed an anti-Vladimir Putin protest in the Russian capital. He had become concerned almost immediately after Putin, a former KGB agent, rose to power, he said. For years, he criticized Putin’s regime on Facebook, and he was detained twice at protests. Still, he never imagined that he would end up fleeing his homeland for fear that Putin’s regime would imprison him. Or that he would end up imprisoned in the US.When Russia launched its invasion of Ukraine in 2022, a colleague asked Demin why he wasn’t enlisting to fight. He replied: “If I go, it will be on Ukraine’s side.” Soon, as the crackdown on dissent in Russia intensified amid the war, Demin and his wife, like many others who had long openly opposed Putin, fled to the US to seek political asylum. For years, Russians have been among the top five nationalities granted asylum.The couple arrived in the US in the summer of 2024, after securing an appointment through CBP One, the app launched by the Biden administration (and since then shut down by Donald Trump) allowing asylum applicants to schedule to meet with immigration officials. At their appointment, Demin and his wife were detained, separated and sent to detention centers in different states. They haven’t seen each other since.His predicament, Demin said, was “a trap and a blatant injustice”.“This is how the US treats people who protest against Russia’s policies,” he said in a call from a detention center in Virginia in January.US Immigration and Customs Enforcement (Ice) does not release public data on the number of people from post-Soviet countries it holds in detention. But Nikolaev said that law enforcement officials have privately acknowledged to her that asylum seekers from those countries are being held longer.Other activists say they have seen similar patterns. The non-profit Russian America for Democracy in Russia (RADR) has played an active role in assisting detainees in immigration detention centers, finding lawyers and working with the government officials.Dmitry Valuev, president of RADR, said it was an issue that affected not only Russians, but also citizens of several other post-Soviet countries.There have been reports that some immigrants arriving from post-Soviet states are facing increased scrutiny over fears they are connected to Islamist terrorist organizations. It’s unclear what prompted US authorities to keep the Russian asylum seekers in detention. One theory is that immigration officials are targeting Russians and other post-Soviet nationals as spies.Eric Rubin, former US ambassador to Bulgaria who also served as a deputy chief of mission at the US embassy in Moscow, said that the complicated history of US-Russia diplomacy can hurt Russian asylum applicants.“When you meet Russians in the United States, obviously you need to wonder whether some of them are actually working for Russian intelligence. Some of them are, most of them are not,” said Rubin.Nikolaev isn’t so sure. “Russian spies can enter the country with European passports, visas and all the right documents,” she said.Nikolaev in January took her concerns to US government officials, alongside Ilya Yashin, a leading Russian opposition figure. They met with officials at the national security council, who requested a list of separated families, Nikolaev said.The Department of Homeland Security, Ice and the national security council did not respond to repeated questions about detention policies or the specific cases outlined in this article.In a statement, the White House said that the duration of cases varies based on legal proceedings and any protections sought. The White House also said there had been “zero instances of children from any of the countries you mentioned being separated from their families by US immigration authorities in this entire fiscal year”.View image in fullscreenBut Galina Kaplunova, 26, an illustrator and anti-Putin activist, was detained and separated from her child and mother at the US border last August.In the summer of 2024, Kaplunova’s husband, a Kremlin supporter, had threatened to take her child away and report her to the police for her political activism, Kaplunova said. A native of St Petersburg, she had been detained multiple times at protests and had volunteered in opposition leaders’ campaign offices. Two days after her husband made the threat, Kaplunova, her four-year-old son and her mother fled to the US.At the US border with Mexico, Ice agents separated Kaplunova from her son, she said. He was placed in foster care, while she and her mother were sent to different detention centers in separate states.After being separated, her son was placed with a Mexican American family, she said. He didn’t speak English, so communicated with them through Google Translate.“I fled Russia so they wouldn’t take my child or jail me. But the US did,” she said.About two months after being detained and separated, Kaplunova was released and reunited with her son, she said. It was a miracle, she said.Now Kaplunova and her son now live in California. Her mother is still detained. Her son is afraid of being abandoned. Whenever she tries to discuss his time in foster care, he simply says he doesn’t remember it.“It’s as if he erased that part of his life so he wouldn’t have to remember it,” she said.He learned some English in foster care, but refuses to speak it with his mother.“Maybe he associates English with something bad, something negative,” she said.Valuev, the president of RADR, said that long periods of detention can hurt applicants’ asylum cases. Hiring a lawyer from within a detention center is nearly impossible due to the lack of internet access, he said. “Detainees are given a list of contacts, but most of these numbers don’t answer the phone,” he said.Additionally, many detainees have no access to materials for their asylum cases because their documents were stored on computers and phones that were confiscated.Vladislav Krasnov, a protest organizer and activist from Moscow, said he spent 444 days in a Louisiana detention center. Krasnov fled Russia in 2022 after Putin announced a draft. He crossed the border with the CBP One appointment and was swiftly detained. Now free, he is still waiting for a court hearing to review his asylum case.Reflecting on his experience, he said he was shocked by the welcome he got in the United States. “I escaped one gulag only to end up in another,” Krasnov said.He was also angry at Russian opposition leaders for not paying attention to his plight until recently.“Last summer, I watched Yulia Navalnaya hugging Biden in the Oval Office. Then she talked on the phone with [Kamala] Harris, and Harris declared that America supports people fighting for Russia’s freedom. To put it mildly, I had a complete breakdown at that moment, sitting in detention,” Krasnov said.About 300 detainees from Russia and other post-Soviet countries filed a lawsuit last November, calling their detention discriminatory, and demanding freedom for people they argue were held without a justification. A federal judge ruled in February that the court lacked the jurisdiction to review the detention policy and dismissed the case.View image in fullscreenAmong those mentioned in the lawsuit was Polina Guseva, a political activist and volunteer on the team of the late Russian dissident Alexei Navalny. Guseva arrived in the US in July 2024, applied for asylum and was sent to a detention center. She said Ice officers at the Louisiana detention facility where she’s being held “openly say that Russians are not being released”.Still, she does not regret coming to the US, she said, adding safety concerns in Russia left her with no other choice.“Two thoughts help me a lot. First, better to be here than to be raped with a dumbbell in a Russian prison,” Guseva said. “And second, my friend Daniil Kholodny is still in prison in Russia. He was the technical director of the Navalny Live YouTube channel. He was tried alongside Alexei Navalny in his last trial and sentenced to eight years. He has been imprisoned for more than two years now. If he can hold on, why shouldn’t I?”Alexei Demin, the former naval officer and longtime protester, was supposed to have his first asylum court hearing reviewing his asylum case in early February, but the hearing was rescheduled to mid-April because of the judge’s sickness. By that time, he will have been in detention for more than 300 days. More