Immigrant detentions soar despite Biden's campaign promises

“I was very scared," Martinez said. "I told the investigators that I was going to leave the case. I didn’t want to go through the process anymore because I don’t want them to hurt my family, let alone me.”

ICE officials in New Orleans declined to comment on Martinez’s case and specific concerns about treatment at the Winn prison, citing federal confidentiality rules for cases dealing with victims of violence and other crimes.

Winn, one of the nation's largest ICE detention centers, has long angered civil rights groups. The Southern Poverty Law Center in June called on the Biden administration to cancel its government contract, citing abuse, medical neglect, racism and other mistreatment at the facility, which is tucked in a dense forest in rural Louisiana and ringed by barbed wire.

An agency spokesperson said ICE generally is committed to ensuring detainees are in a safe, secure and clean environment, are provided comprehensive medical care and have their concerns and complaints addressed by staff in writing.

Immigration opponents argue that a more troubling trend than the rise in detentions is an apparent drop-off in ICE enforcement in cities and towns.

As of last month, more than 80% of detainees had been apprehended by Border Patrol officials, and less than 20% by ICE agents, the ICE data shows. Last July under Trump, 40% of detainees were picked up by the Border Patrol, and 60% by ICE.

That means most of those in detention were apprehended trying to enter the country illegally, not from local immigration enforcement, said Andrew Arthur, a fellow at the Center for Immigration Studies, which advocates for lower immigration.

“We’re simply not enforcing immigration law in the interior of the country,” he said.

Meanwhile, detainees and advocates call for closing detention facilities in favor of monitoring paroled immigrants with GPS devices and other measures.

ICE detainees at the Bergen County Jail in New Jersey filed an administrative complaint last month with Homeland Security’s civil rights office seeking an investigation into allegations including poor sanitary conditions and medical neglect during the pandemic.

“At the end of day, we’re detainees, not inmates,” said Jean Claude Wright, a 38-year-old native of Trinidad and former U.S. Air Force officer named in the complaint. “But this is worse than prison.”

ICE detainees at the Plymouth County House of Corrections in Massachusetts similarly sent a letter to supporters in June, detailing issues like restrictions on visits.

Allison Cullen says she hasn’t been able to visit her husband, a Brazilian national, since before the pandemic.

The couple’s youngest child was only a few months old when Flavio Andrade Prado was detained, and he hasn't seen his now-2-year-old daughter in person in months, she said.

“We’re in this never-ending limbo,” said Cullen, a U.S. citizen from Brockton, about 25 miles (40 kilometers) south of Boston. “There is no easy way to talk to my kids about what’s going on and when Dad is coming home.”

Back in Louisiana, Martinez says he’s asked to be placed in solitary confinement, fearing for his safety.

Two detainees who harassed him for being gay were moved, but ICE officials later sent him to a higher-security unit where he said many gang-affiliated detainees are housed.

He says he spends most of his days in his cell, with limited access to communications and recreation.

“It’s really difficult and miserable, and I’m all alone all the time,” Martinez said. “I’m a good person. This treatment is inhuman.”

He wants to settle in San Jose, California, where a friend promised to help him find work. He wants to send money back to El Salvador — his mother has cancer and his younger sister is in college.

“I just want what everyone wants,” Martinez said, “to get out, be free and help support my family.”