by Linley Mueller
Recently, U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) has been at the center of national debates about immigration policy, detention practices, and human rights. ICE has grown into one of the most controversial institutions in modern American politics, with overreaching enforcement powers, a vast network of detention centers, and a history of rights violations. It has also become a flashpoint in the national struggle over immigration, racial justice, and the limits of state authority. As the number of detained people rises, activists and advocates argue that the U.S. has built an expanding carceral system for noncitizens, one that mirrors the country’s broader reliance on incarceration and the criminalization of marginalized communities.
Since its creation in 2003 as part of the Department of Homeland Security, ICE has expanded far beyond its initial mandate. Under the banner of national security, the agency’s operations increasingly resemble a militarized force, with raids, vehicle checkpoints, and the use of heavily armed tactical teams. While ICE has long defended these practices as necessary for “law enforcement,” immigrant-rights groups see them as part of a broader instrument of surveillance and intimidation specifically targeting undocumented people and disproportionately impacting Black, Brown, and working-class communities.
The U.S. now operates one of the largest immigration detention systems in the world– an archipelago of more than 200 facilities where tens of thousands of people are held daily. These centers are often run by private prison corporations, such as GEO Group and CoreCivic, who profit directly from the number of people behind bars. Critics argue that this profit-driven model creates perverse incentives: overcrowding, medical neglect, and deteriorating conditions become byproducts of a system designed for cost-cutting, not care. Reports have documented abusive conditions ranging from contaminated drinking water to inadequate medical care, solitary confinement, and sexual assault. Detainees have staged hunger strikes across facilities nationwide, protesting this dehumanizing treatment.
The United States’ immigration enforcement reached a breaking point in 2018, when the Trump administration’s “zero-tolerance” policy systematically separated thousands of children from their parents at the southern border. The images of children held in chain-link enclosures sparked global outrage and marked a turning point in public awareness of ICE’s practices. For many, family separation was very revealing of what happens when state institutions operate without transparency or meaningful oversight. While progressive lawmakers and activists call for the abolition or radical restructuring of ICE, conservative politicians defend the agency as national security. Such rhetoric obscures real issues of global inequality, climate displacement, U.S. foreign policy, and economic instability.
Behind political battles are the lives of millions of undocumented and mixed-status families who live with the fear of detention or deportation. Many have lived in the United States for decades, built families, and contributed to communities, yet remain vulnerable to sudden raids or mandatory detention. Legal advocates point out that immigration detention is civil, yet detainees are often held under conditions worse than those in the criminal justice system. Many have no access to legal representation, dramatically lowering their chances of securing relief.
As calls to defund or abolish ICE grow louder, the debate extends beyond the agency itself. Many activists argue that the real issue is the United States’ long-standing reliance on punishment and incarceration as default responses to perceived issues. In this view, dismantling ICE is part of a larger movement to create systems rooted in dignity rather than criminalization. Whether the country will continue to expand its immigration enforcement regime or move toward a humane, community-centered model remains uncertain. What is clear is that the voices demanding justice–detainees, families, organizers, and allies–are becoming impossible to ignore. This demand for change is not just about compassion; it is a demand for humanity.