SHOWING UP UNANNOUNCED

What They Didn't Want Debbie to See

On April 14th, 2026, U.S. Representative Debbie Wasserman Schultz stood on the House floor and delivered what every American with a conscience needs to hear.

Five days earlier, she had done something simple and brave: she showed up unannounced. No advance notice to ICE, no coordinated tour, no state minders with time to hose down the cages and swap out the rotten food. Just a congresswoman exercising her legal right to oversight, walking into “Alligator Alcatraz” — and seeing it for what it is.

What she found was more than a thousand men packed into cages, beaten by guards, denied lawyers, and fed meals dated two weeks old. This is what unannounced looks like. This is what oversight is supposed to be. Every member of Congress has the same legal right Wasserman Schultz exercised that day. The question is who else is willing to use it.

What follows is her floor speech, lightly edited for readability.

Thank you, Mr. Speaker.

Last week, I conducted an unannounced oversight visit to the Everglades Detention Camp — the facility the Trump administration and Florida’s government despicably nicknamed Alligator Alcatraz. While the employees in charge honored the legal requirement to allow me in, for the 3 hours I was there, they wouldn’t allow me to speak with the people they’d put in cages. Because I arrived without notifying ICE, as federal law allows, they had no time to whitewash the inhumane conditions.

I want to tell Americans the truth about what’s being done in the middle of our Everglades, in our name and on our dime.

When you walk into this facility’s dormitory area — a series of massive tents built on top of a tarmac — all you see are cages. Inside were 32 adult men, from age 18 to 75, all packed into each cage, eight cages per tent, with 1,500 packed in that way in total. The cages are clearly unsanitary. It’s dirty and smells like urine. Men use the toilet inside the cages with only an open-sided, pelvis-level wall a few feet from the beds — toilets that had feces remnants in them.

So who did they put in these cages? Convicted criminals? Some, possibly. And let’s be clear — convicted criminals should be deported. But the vast majority are not that. Do they pose an immediate public threat? Under ICE’s own risk assessments, the vast majority do not. Yet everyone there suffers, and that suffering is very intentional. Because cruelty is the point.

Some have been held in cages for 6 months or more. Detainees report being beaten, taunted, and pepper sprayed. Many have disappeared without a day in court, sent to distant third countries where they don’t speak the language — Haitians dumped in Mexico, Cubans sent to African countries and jailed on arrival.

When I walked through, men cried out for help. An older man was sprawled on his cot, clearly ill. I’m certain more are sick. I’ve seen reports that staff denied access to prescriptions, and several detainees have been hospitalized. They’re served tiny meals marked fresh that were clearly dated two weeks old.

For months, ICE denied detainees access to lawyers or family — including US citizen kids. A court order finally forced them to install unmonitored phone lines so people inside could call their attorneys. Human rights advocates have alleged more violations since then.

One harrowing example came just before my visit. On April 2nd, staff at the facility shut off phones for a full day, cutting contact to the outside world. When detainees protested, officers entered their cages and severely beat them. According to the court filing, one man was thrown to the ground and beaten by multiple guards. He suffered injuries to his shoulder and was kicked in the head. A guard placed their knee on his neck. Reports say that when officers pepper sprayed everyone in the cages, an older gentleman passed out because he could not breathe.

It begs the basic question: who’s in charge there?

ICE argues in court that this is a state facility immune from federal law — which is absurd. Immigration is a federal responsibility. The site is in the middle of a federally protected area, on Miccosukee tribal land, under a federal treaty. But why is ICE hiding behind Florida? So they can try to evade accountability for depriving detained people of basic human rights.

As soon as I arrived, I was met by Florida state employees and contractors. During the tour, I asked if ICE had a permanent presence, and they said yes. Any questions I asked about the detainee population were referred to ICE. Yet ICE personnel not only refused to speak with me — they blocked me from talking to the men caged there for months, despite my having signed privacy releases for specific detainees.

Three things about this facility are crystal clear.

First, while Florida taxpayers bear the cost, ICE is clearly in charge. That means this camp should fall under the same rules as any other ICE facility.

Second, it’s an ecological disaster. Taxpayers spent billions to restore the Everglades, which is a critical water resource and a homeland for the Miccosukee people. Now we’re spending countless tax dollars producing — heaven only knows how much — pollution, because ICE never conducted an environmental assessment.

Third, this facility makes a mockery of our values. It’s an insult to the Bill of Rights, which requires due process and prohibits cruel and unusual punishment for all people — not just citizens. And it’s a gut punch to family members who can only watch loved ones waste away inside dirty cages with no legal recourse.

We know this is wrong. We know it’s un-American. That’s why we must stand up.

I watch with pride as my South Florida neighbors mobilized to hold vigils outside the Everglades internment camp and unite in solidarity. For my part, I led Florida Democrats to sponsor legislation to shut this place down and guarantee every member of Congress can conduct oversight at ICE jails — as I did — to see the truth.

Mr. Speaker, this detention camp must be shut down. Our conscience demands it, and I’ll not rest until the families torn apart by this stain on the state of Florida seek and obtain justice.

I yield back.

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