Chaos and Crisis: Inside ICE Detention Centers Through 911 Calls

On a spring day, April 28, a nurse at the Aurora ICE Processing Center near Denver placed a call to 911. The situation was urgent: a woman in custody, four months into her pregnancy, had arrived at the facility's medical unit experiencing bleeding and significant pain. As facility staff scrambled to assess her condition and gather vital signs, the emergency dispatcher on the other end of the line began asking critical questions: What was the woman's age? Was this considered a high-risk pregnancy? The nurse's response revealed a stark lack of information: “She just came to us three days ago.”

The 911 audio, obtained through a detailed investigation, captures the dispatcher's urgent queries, underscoring the severity and uncertainty of the moment:

• “Is there any sign of life?”
• “Have we heard a heartbeat?”
• “Does she feel any kicking?”

To these fundamental questions about the pregnant woman's condition, the nurse could only respond, “We don’t have the equipment to do that.”

This single incident, a pregnant woman in distress within the confines of an immigration detention center, is not an isolated event. It is one instance among a rising tide of emergencies unfolding inside Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) detention facilities across the United States.

A comprehensive investigation, drawing on public records requests, analyzed hundreds of 911 calls originating from 10 of the nation's largest immigration detention centers. The findings paint a troubling picture of a system under immense strain, frequently overwhelmed by medical crises that facility staff appear ill-equipped or unable to handle adequately. The data reveals that at least 60 percent of the centers examined reported serious incidents such as severe pregnancy complications, attempted suicides, or allegations of sexual assault.

Since the beginning of the year, these 10 facilities collectively generated nearly 400 emergency calls. A breakdown of these calls highlights the types of critical situations occurring: nearly 50 involved potential cardiac episodes, 26 referenced seizures, and 17 reported head injuries. Disturbingly, seven calls described suicide attempts or instances of self-harm, including overdoses and hangings. Six other calls involved allegations of sexual abuse, with at least one case explicitly logged as “staff on detainee.”

To provide deeper context and humanize the data, this investigation included interviews with immigration attorneys, local migrant advocates, national policy experts, and individuals who have recently been detained or have family members currently in ICE custody. Their accounts consistently corroborated the picture painted by the 911 data: a system that is not only overwhelmed but, at times, appears alarmingly indifferent to the urgent medical needs of those detained within its walls.

Experts interviewed for this report universally believe that the true number of medical emergencies occurring inside ICE detention centers is significantly higher than the 911 call data suggests. The records reviewed capture only those incidents deemed severe enough by facility staff to warrant contacting external emergency services. Many serious medical issues, they argue, likely go unreported to 911, citing a long history of reports and independent medical reviews that have documented systemic failures in healthcare provision within these facilities.

Even among the incidents that did prompt a call for outside help, a substantial portion – a third of all calls – had vague or entirely nonexistent descriptions in the dispatch logs. Details were frequently withheld by authorities, obscuring the precise nature of the emergency and the outcome.

Consider the call placed on March 16 from the Stewart Detention Center in Lumpkin, Georgia. A woman identifying herself as a detainee called 911 directly. Communication was severely hampered by language barriers; the dispatcher spoke no Spanish, and the caller had only limited English proficiency. “I need help,” the woman pleaded, adding the Spanish word for help, “ayuda.” The line abruptly disconnected. The emergency operator initiated a follow-up call to the facility. A staff member answered, dismissively stating, “We're at a detention center, and the detainee called 911, I'm sorry.” The woman's voice, still audible in the background, continued to plead for assistance. Despite the clear distress and the direct call for help, records indicate that no ambulance was dispatched to the facility in response to this incident.

The Strain of Surging Populations

The backdrop to this increase in medical emergencies is the rapidly expanding population within ICE detention facilities. The system is currently operating significantly over capacity. Detention numbers have surged by more than 48 percent since January, pushing the total detained population to over 59,000 individuals. This represents an all-time high, based on available data.

Crucially, the 2025 emergency call data reviewed for this report largely reflects conditions *before* ICE's most recent and aggressive enforcement surge. A May directive from Department of Homeland Security secretary Kristi Noem and White House adviser Stephen Miller explicitly called for tripling daily arrests. This policy shift is expected to place even greater pressure on the already strained detention system, suggesting that the crises documented here are likely to deepen in the coming months.

ICE's stated goal is to eventually detain 100,000 people simultaneously. To achieve this, the agency is increasingly targeting not only individuals deemed high-priority criminal offenders but also those who have been complying with legal requirements, such as reporting for check-ins or following other directives. This broader net has stretched the detention system to its absolute limit.

In response to the overcrowding, ICE has resorted to offloading detainees into various alternative, often less suitable, locations. These include federal penitentiaries and makeshift tent-like barracks in detention camps. This expansion has been facilitated by a wave of no-bid contracts awarded to private prison corporations. These contracts represent significant financial windfalls for industry giants like The GEO Group and CoreCivic, which together operate the vast majority of the facilities named in this report.

The human cost of this strategy is becoming increasingly apparent and is starkly reflected in the dispatch data from 911 calls. These records reveal how quickly medical emergencies can escalate within these remote, crowded facilities. These are places where the delivery of urgent medical care is frequently delayed, where the burden often falls on overworked and potentially under-resourced staff, and where care can be hindered by what previous reports have described as “insufficient or malfunctioning” medical equipment.

Despite multiple attempts to obtain comment on these findings, the Department of Homeland Security (DHS) and ICE did not respond to requests.

Care on the Margins: The Case of Stewart Detention Center

One of the busiest immigration detention centers in the United States is situated on a plot of unincorporated land deep within rural Georgia. The Stewart Detention Center is isolated even by the standards of its local area. Its location highlights a critical challenge in providing timely and adequate medical care to detainees.

When emergencies occur at Stewart, emergency responders are typically dispatched from the nearby town of Lumpkin. Lumpkin is a former agricultural community whose economy is now largely defined by the presence and population fluctuations of the detention center, which serves as a major source of both employment and operating revenue for the county.

Throughout 2024, Stewart Detention Center consistently logged medical emergencies and violent incidents, ranging from seizures and head injuries to suicide attempts and severe abdominal pain. However, the first four months of 2025 saw a significant increase in both the volume and severity of medical emergencies compared to the same period in the previous year. Although the facility's population was only roughly 10 percent larger, serious medical emergencies – including seizures, head traumas, and suspected heart issues – more than tripled.

Tragically, at least one serious injury reported this year was self-inflicted: an inmate was documented “beating his head against the wall.” Furthermore, Jesús Molina-Veya, a detainee at Stewart, died by suicide on June 7, underscoring the severe mental health toll detention can take.

Stewart Detention Center has a grim record, having reported more in-custody deaths since 2017 than any other facility nationwide.

The geographical isolation of Stewart is compounded by the fact that Stewart County is part of a region severely affected by rural hospital closures. This leaves residents, and by extension, the detainees at Stewart, with some of the longest emergency transport times in the state. EMS crews responding to calls from the facility are often required to stabilize patients for extended periods, as doctors capable of providing advanced medical care may take an hour or more to reach the scene.

Dispatch data from recent months illustrates these delays. In several instances since March, it has taken EMS crews hours to clear some of the most urgent medical calls originating from Stewart. These included cases involving chest pain and abnormal heart readings. In April, EMS spent over two hours handling a seizure at the facility. The same month, a pregnant woman at Stewart was discovered “spitting up blood.” EMS logs show that the call related to this incident took two and a half hours to clear.

Dr. Marc Stern, a physician and former subject matter expert for the DHS’s Office of Civil Rights and Civil Liberties who investigated equality-of-care issues at privately run ICE facilities, offers a crucial perspective on these delays. While acknowledging that 911 records alone provide limited insight into the precise reasons for extended response times, he emphasizes the inherent vulnerability of people in ICE custody, who have no control over where they are detained. Being placed in areas with scarce medical infrastructure, he argues, significantly deepens this vulnerability.

“As a community member, you make a choice to live where you’re living, with all its pros and cons, including, in this case, distance from a hospital,” Stern explains. However, when ICE detainees with chronic health conditions are transferred from urban areas like Los Angeles, which boast greater hospital access and faster emergency response times, to isolated detention centers in rural towns with limited infrastructure and fewer emergency services, they are effectively forced to accept a significantly lower standard of medical care.

CoreCivic, the private corporation that operates Stewart Detention Center, stated that its facilities are staffed with licensed, credentialed doctors, nurses, and mental health professionals. Brian Todd, a spokesperson for CoreCivic, emphasized that “CoreCivic does not enforce immigration laws, arrest anyone who may be in violation of immigration laws, or have any say whatsoever in an individual’s deportation or release.” He added, “CoreCivic also does not know the circumstances of individuals when they are placed in our facilities.”

El Refugio, a nonprofit organization located near Stewart that provides support to detainees and their families, has reported a recent surge in allegations concerning overcrowding at the facility, alongside claims of medical neglect. Amilcar Valencia, the group’s executive director, stated, “That’s been the story of the last eight weeks.”

During visits in recent months, a woman named Emelie (a pseudonym used for privacy) said her husband, who was detained at Stewart until his deportation last month, described severe overcrowding. “He told me once Trump took over, they were rolling out mats in the halls. People were sleeping out there,” she recounted.

Emelie stated that the conditions at Stewart took a visible toll on her husband. He lost weight, became increasingly anxious, and struggled with sleep due to the constant noise and tension. He described having to endure long waits between meals. When he contracted the flu and developed a high fever, she says, he submitted multiple sick call requests but never received medical attention. “He had Covid-19 once,” she added. “Same thing. People would be sick and just left to get worse.”

“You don’t stand a chance at Stewart,” Emelie concluded, describing the facility as “a death sentence for you and your family.”

When questioned about overcrowding at Stewart, CoreCivic spokesperson Brian Todd maintained, “Everyone in our care is offered a bed.” However, three attorneys who regularly visit the facility reported that their clients have consistently described sleeping on floors or in plastic containers fitted with thin mats. These accounts were corroborated by three relatives of current and former detainees.

CoreCivic did not respond to a follow-up question asking for clarification on how the company defines a “bed.”

Scrambling to Cope: The System Under Pressure

The consequences of overcrowding and the surge in detainee populations are not confined to Stewart Detention Center; they are evident across the system. “We’re seeing a lot more transfers happening abruptly and frantically,” observed Jeff Migliozzi, communications director for the nonprofit Freedom for Immigrants, which operates the National Immigration Detention Hotline. “They’re scrambling.” The volume of calls to their hotline more than doubled from 700 in December to 1,600 in March, with many calls going unanswered because the lines are frequently overwhelmed.

Dispatch data obtained from detention facilities across the US supports the picture of a system under pressure. Six of the 10 facilities reviewed by this investigation experienced a sharp month-to-month spike in 911 calls at some point in 2025. In certain cases, emergency dispatches more than tripled. For example, the remote South Texas ICE Processing Center placed nearly 80 emergency calls between January and May. Logs show that the number of calls from this facility, which is run by the GEO Group, one of the nation’s largest for-profit prison operators, more than tripled in March, rising from 10 in February to 31. In one particularly busy week, dispatchers fielded 11 separate calls from the South Texas center.

Migliozzi cautioned that a rise in 911 calls doesn’t definitively prove worsening conditions, suggesting it could simply reflect the surging detainee population within an already inadequate system. Other experts noted that, hypothetically, an increase in calls could indicate that staff are becoming quicker to seek outside help. Conversely, a decline in calls might just as easily point to delayed responses or a reluctance to call for external assistance, rather than a reduction in actual crises.

Disturbingly, three of the seven 911 calls obtained by this investigation that involved suicide attempts this year originated from the South Texas center. In February, a 36-year-old man swallowed 20 over-the-counter pills. In March, a 37-year-old detainee ingested cleaning chemicals. Just two weeks later, a 41-year-old man was found cutting himself.

Anthony Enriquez, vice president of advocacy at Robert F. Kennedy Human Rights, highlighted the inherent contradiction in these incidents. Immigration detention, he noted, is not legally supposed to be punitive. “But the conditions of confinement in detention are so brutal,” he stated, “that people have attempted suicide while waiting for their day in court.”

Enriquez argued that the strategic decision to locate facilities in such remote areas – places that limit access to family, legal support, and community resources – is not accidental. The sheer volume and frequency of 911 calls nationwide, he contended, reflect a system that not only isolates detainees but leaves them dangerously vulnerable to harm, including severe medical crises and psychological distress.

As of May, over five dozen 911 calls had been placed this year from the Aurora ICE Processing Center in Colorado, another facility operated by the GEO Group. In April, the number of calls from Aurora was more than double that of March. In one notable case, a nurse reported a 20-year-old woman who was detoxing from a drug commonly prescribed to treat anxiety and seizures. The nurse described the woman as too weak to walk and “barely weighs 90 pounds.” The facility, the nurse explained to the dispatcher, does not treat people in withdrawal, adding, “We want to make sure she doesn’t have a seizure.”

Less than a week later, another 911 call was placed regarding a different 20-year-old woman withdrawing from the same drug. This time, the situation had escalated; she had a seizure and, according to the nurse on the call, was “in and out of consciousness.” These incidents highlight the challenges facilities face in managing complex medical needs, particularly withdrawal, which requires specialized care often unavailable on-site.

Vulnerable Populations: Pregnant Individuals in Detention

Since January, at least four 911 calls from detention facilities in Colorado, Texas, and Georgia have involved pregnant women in distress, reporting bleeding or suffering severe pain. One of these calls even involved a CoreCivic employee who was pregnant and experiencing an emergency.

Research has consistently linked ICE detention to high rates of pregnancy complications. Physicians for Human Rights, for example, have found serious risks to both fetal and maternal health associated with detention. Recognizing these risks, ICE policy generally discourages the detention of pregnant individuals.

However, enforcement of this policy appears inconsistent. According to data from the Department of Homeland Security, ICE booked 158 pregnant, postpartum, and nursing individuals into detention over a six-month period ending early last spring.

Eunice Hyunhye Cho, a senior attorney for the American Civil Liberties Union (ACLU), noted that while it is difficult to definitively assess ICE’s compliance with its own policy based solely on 911 call data, the agency’s recent push to increase the detained population has clearly resulted in the detention of many individuals who would likely not have been held in custody under previous administrations, including pregnant individuals. “Previous administrations have chosen to exercise discretion about who to detain and who to release, based on medical vulnerability,” Cho stated, “but there is less indication that this is happening now.”

“As multiple medical experts and medical associations have noted, placing individuals who are pregnant, postpartum, or nursing in detention is simply not a safe practice,” Cho added, emphasizing the risks, “particularly in light of poor nutrition and medical care in detention settings, as well as the harm it causes to children and families.”

In an email, CoreCivic spokesperson Brian Todd reiterated the company’s position, stating that detainees have “daily access to sign up for medical care, including mental health services.” He added that Stewart’s clinic is staffed with licensed professionals who “contractually meet the highest standards of care as verified by multiple audits and inspections.” Todd asserted, “Our onsite health services team at SDC, as with every facility where we provide medical care, takes seriously their role and responsibility to provide high-quality health care.”

Meredyth Yoon, litigation director at Asian Americans Advancing Justice – Atlanta, shared deeply concerning accounts documented by her office. They have documented cases of pregnant people suffering miscarriages while in custody after allegedly being denied proper medical attention. “We know specific instances where people have made repeated medical requests for weeks and not been seen,” she stated. In other cases, she added, pregnant detainees have gone months without receiving any prenatal care.

“When you hear about someone bleeding for days without being seen, locked alone in a room with no medical attention, it’s deeply disturbing,” Yoon said. “But it's not out of line with the types of things that we see at Stewart.”

CoreCivic's Todd stated that the company is barred by privacy laws from commenting on specific medical cases.

Silence on the Line: Barriers to Care

Advocates argue that for every 911 call placed from a detention facility, many more emergencies likely go unreported or unaddressed. Structural barriers within the detention system often prevent detainees from receiving timely medical care. The standard procedure for seeing a healthcare provider typically involves submitting a written “sick call” request. However, responses to these requests can take days, and even when a detainee is finally seen, evaluations are often cursory, according to accounts from detainees and their families.

“A 911 call usually means someone’s in a condition the facility can’t handle,” explained Eunice Hyunhye Cho of the ACLU. ICE detention centers generally rely on on-site medical units that function more like basic clinics. These units are typically equipped to dispense medication and check symptoms but may lack the necessary equipment or staffing to handle most emergencies. When facility staff determine they cannot manage a detainee’s medical condition, policy dictates that they should call 911 and notify supervisors through specific emergency protocols. However, in practice, these steps have often been poorly followed or have led to significant delays in receiving external medical assistance.

The experience of Rodney Taylor, a double amputee detained at Stewart Detention Center, illustrates the challenges faced by those with significant medical needs. According to his fiancée, Mildred Pierre, Taylor has never been taken to a hospital despite experiencing multiple medical emergencies while in custody. “It has taken three to four days for detainees to be seen,” she stated. Pierre argued that the facilities lack the capacity to support people with disabilities, calling the situation “automatic medical neglect.”

Just three weeks prior to this report, Taylor fell and sustained serious injuries, breaking the prosthetic limbs he had waited months to receive. He also injured his hand while attempting to brace his fall. Pierre described his hand injuries: “Bruised. Swollen. The thumb won’t bend at all.”

Taylor suffers from chronic conditions, including diverticulitis and a history of heart disease, according to Pierre. She recalled one instance while he was in custody when his blood pressure spiked to a dangerously high reading, accompanied by other symptoms that warranted emergency care. “He was having blurred vision and a headache,” she said. “He was having tingly feelings in his arms. I'm like, ‘It sounds like you're having a stroke.’” When he was finally seen by the on-site medical staff, she says, they simply gave him Tylenol and his usual blood pressure medicine, failing to recognize or adequately respond to the potential severity of his symptoms.

Allison Bustillo, a 23-year-old nursing student with scoliosis, has spent four months in ICE custody in Georgia. Her mother, Keily Chinchilla, shared her daughter’s distressing experience. Bustillo has often been forced to sleep on the floor, causing her spine to seize from inflammation and resulting in numbness in her left arm and half of her face. Chinchilla stated that her daughter relies on a combination of anti-inflammatories and other medications to manage her condition, but she is not receiving them regularly in detention.

Since her detention began, Bustillo’s condition has worsened significantly. She has reported blood in her stool, severe stomach pain, and episodes of dangerously low blood pressure that once prompted staff to rush her to the infirmary. However, most days, her mother says, her daughter’s pleas for help are ignored or met with indifference. Unable to tolerate the facility’s food, which she says exacerbates her pain, Bustillo largely subsists on commissary items like oatmeal and canned tuna, purchased with funds sent by her mother from afar.

“I'm the only one trying to help my daughter,” Chinchilla said, her voice filled with anguish. “She's not a criminal. She's sick and needs help.”

Other 911 calls from facilities across the country further suggest that even when emergencies are recognized by facility staff, access to external medical care can be delayed – or even denied entirely.

At the South Texas ICE Processing Center, a woman called 911 on March 31 to report that her husband, who was detained inside, had been too weak to get out of bed all day and that “they have not helped.” This call highlights the frustration and desperation felt by family members on the outside when they are aware of a medical problem but feel powerless to ensure their loved one receives care.

In Denver, a female nurse at the Aurora ICE Processing Center placed a 911 call on April 30 regarding a detainee on Level 1 suicide watch – the highest risk tier. The detainee had intentionally slammed his head into a wall and was bleeding from the mouth. Midway through the call, commotion could be heard in the background, and a man’s voice instructed the nurse to cancel the call. “You know what, never mind,” the nurse told the dispatcher. When the dispatcher, perhaps sensing something was amiss, asked, “Are you sure?” the nurse responded, “The provider cancelled it.” This incident raises serious questions about the autonomy of medical staff and whether the well-being of detainees is always the primary consideration when deciding whether to seek external emergency care.

What Gets Buried Inside: Allegations of Abuse

Beyond medical crises, the 911 call data also hints at darker issues within detention facilities. At least six 911 calls placed from two GEO Group facilities this year referenced possible forced sexual contact or sexual assault.

The GEO Group states that it enforces a “zero-tolerance” policy for sexual abuse and asserts compliance with federal regulations under the Prison Rape Elimination Act (PREA). PREA is a 2003 law intended to address the widespread problem of sexual violence in US correctional facilities. However, experts caution that in the absence of meaningful oversight, particularly under the current administration, written policies and stated compliance do not guarantee real-world protections for detainees.

One of the facilities from which these calls originated is the Adelanto ICE Processing Center in California. Adelanto reopened early this year after being largely dormant for several years following numerous reports of unsafe conditions. Within its first three months back in operation, the facility generated at least 13 emergency calls, including at least two involving reported sexual assaults or threats of sexual assaults in March and April.

The pattern of calls referencing sexual abuse continues at the South Texas ICE Processing Center, another facility operated by the GEO Group. One particularly chilling 911 dispatch from March simply states: “Staff on detainee.” Since January, at least three other emergency calls from this facility have referenced sexual abuse.

In recent months, the Trump administration has quietly dismantled or significantly weakened two critical oversight bodies within the Department of Homeland Security that were responsible for investigating abuses in detention: the immigration detention ombuds office and the Office for Civil Rights and Civil Liberties. According to Zain Lakhani of the Women’s Refugee Commission (WRC), the effective dismantling of these offices has left detained migrants with virtually no viable channel to report sexual assault, medical neglect, or violations of parental rights. “These statutory obligations that they have to prevent and respond to sexual abuse, there’s no one to actually do this work now,” she stated.

The administration has not publicly stated how it intends to handle the backlog of abandoned complaints or how it will meet its obligations under PREA in the absence of these oversight mechanisms. Groups like the WRC, which were previously granted regular access to ICE facilities to document abuses and escalate reports, have been effectively cut off. Lakhani described this situation as creating a “black box of impunity,” where abuses can occur with little to no external scrutiny.

Like other experts and advocates, Lakhani emphasized that gauging the true scale of sexual abuse in detention is nearly impossible under these conditions. “I think using 911 calls at the best of times is only going to capture a very, very small fraction of the number of cases,” she said. Furthermore, she noted, detained migrants are often terrified to report abuse. “They're calling from inside detention and they don't know what's going to happen to them.”

Existing investigations support the concern that 911 calls and official reports capture only a fraction of the problem. According to an investigation by Futuro Media, at least hundreds of immigrants reported sexual abuse while in ICE custody over the past decade. Their reporting, based on analysis of internal records, revealed allegations of 308 sexual abuse or assault complaints filed across ICE facilities between 2015 and 2021. More than half of these allegations implicated facility staff. Disturbingly, the investigation found that “most sexual abuse complaints aren’t being investigated.”

Similarly, The Intercept reported in 2018 that ICE records revealed more than 1,200 allegations of sexual abuse and assault between 2010 and 2017. According to their analysis, only 43 of these allegations were investigated by DHS.

Like the GEO Group, CoreCivic states its commitment to combatting sexual abuse and harassment, citing regulations imposed under PREA and adding that its staff receive “pre-service and in-service” education and training.

Both companies frequently cite oversight and accreditations from organizations such as the American Correctional Association (ACA) and the National Commission on Correctional Health Care (NCCHC) as evidence of their adherence to national guidelines and standards of care.

However, Dr. Marc Stern, the former DHS expert, offered a critical perspective on the value of such accreditations. He argued that accreditation primarily demonstrates whether a facility has checked certain boxes – such as writing policies or hiring a specific number of staff – rather than guaranteeing that people inside actually receive adequate care. Facilities can score points simply by having policies in place, regardless of whether those policies are effectively implemented or lead to positive outcomes for detainees.

“It’s like saying someone has a driver’s license,” Stern explained. “They passed a test. But that doesn’t mean they won’t run a red light tomorrow.” His analogy suggests that accreditation, while potentially indicating a baseline level of procedural compliance, is not a substitute for robust, independent oversight and accountability for the actual care and safety of detainees.

The hundreds of 911 calls reviewed in this investigation, coupled with the accounts of detainees, families, and advocates, paint a stark picture of a system struggling under the weight of increased numbers and diminished oversight. The emergencies documented – from pregnant women bleeding to individuals attempting suicide or suffering severe withdrawal – are not merely statistics; they represent moments of profound crisis for vulnerable individuals held in remote, often overcrowded facilities where timely and adequate medical care appears to be the exception, rather than the rule. As the detainee population continues to rise, the human cost of these systemic failures is likely to become even more devastating.