On the Road with Human Rights First:
Thoughts from our visit to assess the treatment of asylum-seekers being imprisoned by ICE in local Virginia jails
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
Tomorrow, three staff members from Human Rights First and a representative from Physicians for Human Rights, will be traveling to central Virginia to visit two local jails where asylum-seekers and immigrants are being detained by Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE). Some of them have fled brutal torture, arbitrary imprisonment, and threats on their lives in their home countries. They came to the United States, seeking a safe-haven from oppression and violence. They came full of hope, having heard of the United States’ long tradition of welcoming those escaping torture and abuse. Instead, these vulnerable people find themselves imprisoned again. They have no idea when they will be released and sit waiting in jail for months and even years on end while their cases wind their way through the system.
The detention of asylum seekers – especially in the absence of appropriate review of the necessity of the detention – runs contrary to international standards. The United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees’ guidelines on the detention of asylum seekers state that “as a general principle, asylum-seekers should not be detained.” Furthermore, mandatory detention – without an individualized determination that continued detention is necessary – is arbitrary. Pursuant to the International Convention for Civil and Political Rights, detention may be considered arbitrary when it is “not necessary in all the circumstances of the case.”
Numerous reports – including by the DHS Office of Inspector General, the Government Accountability Office, and non-profit organizations – have documented the prison-like detention conditions and often serious violations of detention standards. A 2005 study by the bi-partisan U.S. Commission on International Religious Freedom documented the flaws in the asylum and detention system and set forth detailed recommendations, including that asylum seekers should not be detained in jails or jail-like facilities.
Wednesday, November 19, 2008:
Hampton Roads Regional Jail in Portsmouth, Virginia
My colleagues and I meet bright and early at 6:30 a.m. for the long drive from Washington D.C. to Hampton Roads Regional Jail in Portsmouth, Virginia. Drive time is nearly four hours, and the jail’s distance from an urban hub is one of the reasons that the asylum-seekers and immigrant detainees have trouble finding lawyers to handle their cases.
As we leave the hustle of the capital, massive federal buildings give way to suburban sprawl. After an hour of driving we are in full countryside – trees bursting with autumn colors. We eventually find the jail complex, and as we pull in we remark on how innocuous the concrete buildings look from the outside – no barbed wire, high fencing, or gun-towers surrounding the jail complex. Only the absence of real windows, and a moat surrounding the buildings, betray the fact that we are about to enter a jail.
We pass through the front doors and are greeted by an ICE official, who then takes us through a security checkpoint and metal detectors. After a thorough briefing by the Captain of the local jail, we pass through a series of massive steel doors. Hampton Roads Regional Jail is structured like a grand labyrinth – corridors jutting out from empty spaces through double steel doors and heavy-paneled, shatter-proof glass. The light is artificial and the lack of fresh air suffocating. The guards talk in jail-speak, loosely throwing around terms like “the hole”, “the seg unit”, and “lock-down.” Though ICE likes to use sterile terms like “detainee” and “detention facility,” there is no mistaking where we are – we are in a jail.
As we progress on our tour through the facility, jail officials tell us that out of a total of 1,347 beds, there is a current ICE inmate population of 259. While many of the ICE detainees are held in a separate “housing unit,” several are mixed in with the general jail population, contrary to both ICE detention standards and international standards.
As we move through the various “pods”, we are given the opportunity to speak to some of the immigrant detainees. Several of them are arriving asylum seekers, who were placed in immigration detention when they arrived at the airport and remain in detention while they await an immigration court hearing. They are wearing orange jumpsuits like criminals, and tell us that their own clothing was taken away when they arrived. We have an opportunity to look at the cells in which they sleep – standard jail cells with narrow bunk beds, an open toilet, and a metal sink.
We speak at length with several asylum seekers. One female asylum seeker tells us that upon arrival at Hampton Roads, she was placed in the same pod with women with violent criminal histories. This frightened her, and caused her to become even more depressed. She complains about the food, the isolation of the facility, and the lack of proper medical care. But most of all, she complains about the lack of communication with ICE officials. She tells us she has no information on the status of her case, and feels as if she is stuck in a kind of limbo.
We also speak with an ICE detainee who reports that he had been imprisoned and tortured in his home country, and is now seeking relief under the Convention Against Torture. He tells us that he has been shuffled around to various detention centers over the course of the past seven months. ICE and jail officials never give him advance notice that he is going to be moved. He also tells us that the video hearings – during which he appears in court by video and speaks to a judge on a television screen - are terrible. He can never hear the judge or government attorney, and has difficulty understanding what is happening with his case. Being in jail again, only here in the U.S., has deepened his feelings of depression he says. He has at times contemplated suicide, but still has a glimmer of hope that he will get out of jail and find freedom.
After speaking with many asylum seekers and detainees, we are led out of the secure area and into the jail’s administrative area. The jail administrators answer all our questions, but in the end, we’re told: “You know, they just don’t want to be in jail. And this is a jail….We were designed to be a jail.”
November 20, 2008 - Piedmont County Jail
After a long drive from Hampton Roads and a quiet evening in Farmville, Virginia, we wake early for our visit to the Piedmont County Jail. At breakfast in the hotel lobby, we chat with a woman who tell us that a private company is breaking ground on a new, massive detention center in Farmville, in anticipation of a lucrative contract with ICE. As the Washington Post reported in “The Profit of Detention” on October 5, 2008, the new facility will have 1,040 beds, and will yield millions of dollars in profits for a small group of Richmond investors.
Approaching the Piedmont County Jail, which sits on the outskirts of Farmville, we quickly become aware that – unlike Hampton Roads – this facility looks like a jail from the outside. Piedmont is surrounded by barbed wire and fences. The housing pods are really large warehouses, and detainees sleep and eat in one open space filled with double and triple bunk beds. There are virtually no windows, or access to fresh air. Though this facility – unlike Hampton Roads – has true outdoor recreation areas, detainees we spoke with reported that they are allowed out only about once a week.
Upon our arrival, a jail staff member leads us straight into the “pods” housing ICE detainees. In the first pod, we are surrounded by detainees, and peppered with a litany of complaints. We learn that a group of ICE detainees has decided to go on a hunger strike to protest abusive treatment by one of the guards. They started their hunger strike early that morning, and say they are planning on continuing until they are treated with respect. Many detainees also voice complaints about medical care, and delays in receiving medical attention. Several detainees tell us they have to wait days or weeks to be seen by the medical staff. One tells us that he has filled out numerous sick call requests but has yet to be attended to by the medical unit. Another tells us how his friend needed urgent medical attention, and it took nearly half an hour to get a guard to come to the pod. His friend was then dragged out of the pod and put into “the hole”, or the isolation unit, while he waited for a doctor to come. “We’re treated like animals,” one asylum seeker tells us.
Despite the numerous complaints on living conditions, as was the case at Hampton Roads, one of the biggest complaints is about poor communication with ICE. One detainee tells me that he is “lost in the system.” He says that his name and alien registration number seem to have disappeared from the computer, and as a result he is in a kind of immigration black hole. In the meantime he sits in detention – with little or no answers – waiting for a court date.
We leave the jail exhausted from the conversations, sights, sounds, and smells. During the long drive back to Washington, we reflect on the asylum seekers we have met, and the thousands of others who each year spend months and sometimes even years in jails or jail-like detention centers. We are left with a striking impression – being in immigration detention in a remote county jail feels like being sucked into a black hole.
Please read our Blueprint for the Next Administration: How to Repair the U.S. Asylum System for more information and policy recommendations for the Obama administration.
-- Asa Piyaka
Thoughts from our visit to assess the treatment of asylum-seekers being imprisoned by ICE in local Virginia jails
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
Tomorrow, three staff members from Human Rights First and a representative from Physicians for Human Rights, will be traveling to central Virginia to visit two local jails where asylum-seekers and immigrants are being detained by Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE). Some of them have fled brutal torture, arbitrary imprisonment, and threats on their lives in their home countries. They came to the United States, seeking a safe-haven from oppression and violence. They came full of hope, having heard of the United States’ long tradition of welcoming those escaping torture and abuse. Instead, these vulnerable people find themselves imprisoned again. They have no idea when they will be released and sit waiting in jail for months and even years on end while their cases wind their way through the system.
The detention of asylum seekers – especially in the absence of appropriate review of the necessity of the detention – runs contrary to international standards. The United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees’ guidelines on the detention of asylum seekers state that “as a general principle, asylum-seekers should not be detained.” Furthermore, mandatory detention – without an individualized determination that continued detention is necessary – is arbitrary. Pursuant to the International Convention for Civil and Political Rights, detention may be considered arbitrary when it is “not necessary in all the circumstances of the case.”
Numerous reports – including by the DHS Office of Inspector General, the Government Accountability Office, and non-profit organizations – have documented the prison-like detention conditions and often serious violations of detention standards. A 2005 study by the bi-partisan U.S. Commission on International Religious Freedom documented the flaws in the asylum and detention system and set forth detailed recommendations, including that asylum seekers should not be detained in jails or jail-like facilities.
Wednesday, November 19, 2008:
Hampton Roads Regional Jail in Portsmouth, Virginia
My colleagues and I meet bright and early at 6:30 a.m. for the long drive from Washington D.C. to Hampton Roads Regional Jail in Portsmouth, Virginia. Drive time is nearly four hours, and the jail’s distance from an urban hub is one of the reasons that the asylum-seekers and immigrant detainees have trouble finding lawyers to handle their cases.
As we leave the hustle of the capital, massive federal buildings give way to suburban sprawl. After an hour of driving we are in full countryside – trees bursting with autumn colors. We eventually find the jail complex, and as we pull in we remark on how innocuous the concrete buildings look from the outside – no barbed wire, high fencing, or gun-towers surrounding the jail complex. Only the absence of real windows, and a moat surrounding the buildings, betray the fact that we are about to enter a jail.
We pass through the front doors and are greeted by an ICE official, who then takes us through a security checkpoint and metal detectors. After a thorough briefing by the Captain of the local jail, we pass through a series of massive steel doors. Hampton Roads Regional Jail is structured like a grand labyrinth – corridors jutting out from empty spaces through double steel doors and heavy-paneled, shatter-proof glass. The light is artificial and the lack of fresh air suffocating. The guards talk in jail-speak, loosely throwing around terms like “the hole”, “the seg unit”, and “lock-down.” Though ICE likes to use sterile terms like “detainee” and “detention facility,” there is no mistaking where we are – we are in a jail.
As we progress on our tour through the facility, jail officials tell us that out of a total of 1,347 beds, there is a current ICE inmate population of 259. While many of the ICE detainees are held in a separate “housing unit,” several are mixed in with the general jail population, contrary to both ICE detention standards and international standards.
As we move through the various “pods”, we are given the opportunity to speak to some of the immigrant detainees. Several of them are arriving asylum seekers, who were placed in immigration detention when they arrived at the airport and remain in detention while they await an immigration court hearing. They are wearing orange jumpsuits like criminals, and tell us that their own clothing was taken away when they arrived. We have an opportunity to look at the cells in which they sleep – standard jail cells with narrow bunk beds, an open toilet, and a metal sink.
We speak at length with several asylum seekers. One female asylum seeker tells us that upon arrival at Hampton Roads, she was placed in the same pod with women with violent criminal histories. This frightened her, and caused her to become even more depressed. She complains about the food, the isolation of the facility, and the lack of proper medical care. But most of all, she complains about the lack of communication with ICE officials. She tells us she has no information on the status of her case, and feels as if she is stuck in a kind of limbo.
We also speak with an ICE detainee who reports that he had been imprisoned and tortured in his home country, and is now seeking relief under the Convention Against Torture. He tells us that he has been shuffled around to various detention centers over the course of the past seven months. ICE and jail officials never give him advance notice that he is going to be moved. He also tells us that the video hearings – during which he appears in court by video and speaks to a judge on a television screen - are terrible. He can never hear the judge or government attorney, and has difficulty understanding what is happening with his case. Being in jail again, only here in the U.S., has deepened his feelings of depression he says. He has at times contemplated suicide, but still has a glimmer of hope that he will get out of jail and find freedom.
After speaking with many asylum seekers and detainees, we are led out of the secure area and into the jail’s administrative area. The jail administrators answer all our questions, but in the end, we’re told: “You know, they just don’t want to be in jail. And this is a jail….We were designed to be a jail.”
November 20, 2008 - Piedmont County Jail
After a long drive from Hampton Roads and a quiet evening in Farmville, Virginia, we wake early for our visit to the Piedmont County Jail. At breakfast in the hotel lobby, we chat with a woman who tell us that a private company is breaking ground on a new, massive detention center in Farmville, in anticipation of a lucrative contract with ICE. As the Washington Post reported in “The Profit of Detention” on October 5, 2008, the new facility will have 1,040 beds, and will yield millions of dollars in profits for a small group of Richmond investors.
Approaching the Piedmont County Jail, which sits on the outskirts of Farmville, we quickly become aware that – unlike Hampton Roads – this facility looks like a jail from the outside. Piedmont is surrounded by barbed wire and fences. The housing pods are really large warehouses, and detainees sleep and eat in one open space filled with double and triple bunk beds. There are virtually no windows, or access to fresh air. Though this facility – unlike Hampton Roads – has true outdoor recreation areas, detainees we spoke with reported that they are allowed out only about once a week.
Upon our arrival, a jail staff member leads us straight into the “pods” housing ICE detainees. In the first pod, we are surrounded by detainees, and peppered with a litany of complaints. We learn that a group of ICE detainees has decided to go on a hunger strike to protest abusive treatment by one of the guards. They started their hunger strike early that morning, and say they are planning on continuing until they are treated with respect. Many detainees also voice complaints about medical care, and delays in receiving medical attention. Several detainees tell us they have to wait days or weeks to be seen by the medical staff. One tells us that he has filled out numerous sick call requests but has yet to be attended to by the medical unit. Another tells us how his friend needed urgent medical attention, and it took nearly half an hour to get a guard to come to the pod. His friend was then dragged out of the pod and put into “the hole”, or the isolation unit, while he waited for a doctor to come. “We’re treated like animals,” one asylum seeker tells us.
Despite the numerous complaints on living conditions, as was the case at Hampton Roads, one of the biggest complaints is about poor communication with ICE. One detainee tells me that he is “lost in the system.” He says that his name and alien registration number seem to have disappeared from the computer, and as a result he is in a kind of immigration black hole. In the meantime he sits in detention – with little or no answers – waiting for a court date.
We leave the jail exhausted from the conversations, sights, sounds, and smells. During the long drive back to Washington, we reflect on the asylum seekers we have met, and the thousands of others who each year spend months and sometimes even years in jails or jail-like detention centers. We are left with a striking impression – being in immigration detention in a remote county jail feels like being sucked into a black hole.
Please read our Blueprint for the Next Administration: How to Repair the U.S. Asylum System for more information and policy recommendations for the Obama administration.
-- Asa Piyaka
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