Tennessee Department of Correction's partnership with ICE is pending

NASHVILLE, Tenn. (WKRN) — The Tennessee Department of Correction is working to lock in a partnership with Immigration and Customs Enforcement.
TDOC is listed as a pending partner in ICE's 287(g) program. It would let correctional employees interrogate inmates about their immigration status and start the process to have them deported.
The department oversees 14 prisons, housing about 20,000 inmates, as well as 46 probation and parole offices, supervising roughly 75,000 offenders across the state.
'These folks are already busy enough,' the executive director of the Center for Human Rights and Constitutional Law, Sergio Perez, said. 'This means putting more on their plate.'
Metro Nashville leaders respond to the Department of Homeland Security's arrest announcement
If approved, TDOC would be part of the jail enforcement program that allows correctional employees to question inmates about their immigration status and file paperwork to hold inmates for ICE.
The Putnam County Sheriff's Office already has a similar agreement. Meanwhile, deputies in Giles and Sumner County can serve warrants.
'The communities who participate in 287(g) agreements end up shifting scant public safety resources, refocusing them on immigration efforts, and members of the community across the board suffer,' Perez explained.
Macon and Bradley counties are also seeking to join the ICE program.
'The situation continues to escalate, and Tennessee really seems to be frankly at the forefront nationally,' an organizer with the Party for Socialism and Liberation, Nicholas Goodell, said.
TN congressman says he will request investigation into Nashville mayor over alleged 'repeated obstruction of ICE operations'
TDOC was not available for an interview but said, 'TDOC will continue to partner with state and federal agencies to support ICE operations as needed to uphold the law and increase public safety.'
Sumner County Mayor John Isbell expressed his approval for the Sumner County Sheriff's Office partnering with ICE in a statement, saying, in part, 'Public safety is our highest priority, and this partnership between our Sheriff's Office and federal authorities enhances our ability to protect our communities. The 287(g) Warrant Service Officer program provides our law enforcement with additional tools to ensure that individuals who have violated both our immigration laws and local criminal laws are properly identified and processed.'
The program only applies to people already in custody. It does not authorize deputies to carry out immigration enforcement in the community.
'You have larger allegations or more common allegations of the misuse of authority, excessive use of force, and other kinds of alleged misconduct that often leads to very expensive payouts down the line,' Perez argued.
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A group that is organizing a protest against ICE on Saturday, May 17 told News 2 that this partnership not only breaks trust between community members and law enforcement, but it tears families apart.
'I think they're overconfident that this can be the place where they can bring Trump's vision of a right-wing, low-wage, immigrant-free utopia to bear,' Goodell expressed.
'When you deputize local law enforcement, you're injuring that community identity, those values that we all care about,' Perez concluded.
News 2 reached out to the involved counties. By the time this article was published, they either said they were unavailable for comment or had yet to respond.
Copyright 2025 Nexstar Media, Inc. All rights reserved. This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten, or redistributed.

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Yahoo

11 minutes ago

• Yahoo

He thought a decade-old misdemeanor was behind him. Then he took a vacation in Europe.

Fabian Schmidt and his fiancée, Bhavani Hodgkins, stroll along the Nashua River near their apartment in downtown Nashua, N.H., with their black Lab named Django. (Photo by Allegra Boverman/New Hampshire Bulletin) Fabian Schmidt had no control over the light. It stayed on overhead from 6:30 in the morning until 11:30 at night. Which was a surprise for the 34-year-old New Hampshire resident because he always thought of prison as a dark place, like in the 1999 movie 'The Green Mile.' His cell wasn't fully dark at night either. Guards with flashlights regularly checked on everyone held at the Wyatt Detention Facility. Schmidt was housed among other Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) detainees apart from the larger inmate population held by the U.S. Marshals Service awaiting federal court proceedings. Yet he learned other ICE detainees faced serious charges, including murder, sexual assault, and drug-dealing. The mission of the Wyatt — a quasi-public maximum security facility in Central Falls, Rhode Island's smallest city — is to 'protect the public from people who pose a threat to society.' Schmidt never committed any violent crime. Instead, he got off a plane at Boston's Logan International Airport on March 7 on his return from a 10-day trip to visit family and friends in his native Germany. Schmidt obtained his green card as a teenager and became a U.S. permanent resident. But for some reason, Customs and Border Protection (CBP) agents pulled him aside. They aggressively asked him about past misdemeanors from 10 years ago when he lived in California — including a charge of drug possession that had been adjudicated. They asked about his annual income, where his parents lived, and what they did for a living. He was held for hours, which turned into days during which he was denied the chance to speak with a lawyer, his family, or the German Consulate. At one point, Schmidt said he was strip-searched and thrown into a cold shower. He was given only a thin mat to sleep on and fed a cold cup of noodles. He collapsed after developing flu-like symptoms and was transported to Mass General Hospital, where he was handcuffed to the bed. After being discharged from the hospital, Schmidt was taken back to the airport. On March 11, four days after his return from Europe, CBP agents came to get him. 'That's the first time I went to Rhode Island,' he recalled in a recent interview at a coffee shop near his home in Nashua. 'In hand shackles, feet shackles, in the back of an SUV going like 80 miles an hour.' He speaks softly, with a faint accent, sometimes pausing to note the surreal facts of the 58 days he spent inside the Wyatt. In a statement, Department of Homeland Security Assistant Secretary Tricia McLaughlin told Rhode Island Current, 'When an individual is found with drug related charges and tries to re-enter the country, officers will take proper action. In this case, the conviction was dismissed, and the individual was released.' In several posts on the platform X , McLaughlin has called clips from news reports on Schmidt's treatment by CBP at Logan 'blatantly false,' 'straight-up false,' and 'flat-out FALSE.' Schmidt is readjusting to life back home. He said the ordeal cost him tens of thousands of dollars in legal fees, lost wages from his job as a master electrician, and expenses for food, clothing, and phone calls home to his worried girlfriend. He is considering filing a lawsuit, though he doesn't have details to share about that yet. 'This whole experience feels like a movie,' he said. Schmidt's story is one of dozens of accounts of hyper-aggressive immigration enforcement since the start of Donald Trump's second term. There's the Canadian woman with a U.S. work visa detained by ICE for two weeks who wrote she felt like she had been 'kidnapped;' the visiting scholar at Georgetown University with an academic visa held without charges at an ICE detention facility in Texas; the pair of Georgia newlyweds separated after the bride, an asylum seeker from Colombia, was detained by ICE. According to the Syracuse University-based public records database, Transactional Records Access Clearinghouse (TRAC), 19,125 people were booked into ICE detention in March, when Schmidt was first detained. His case drew headlines because it initially made no sense. New Hampshire's Democratic U.S. Sen. Maggie Hassan described the case as 'very concerning,' while Massachusetts Democratic State Rep. Mike Connolly called Schmidt's detention 'outrageous' and 'unlawful.' On X, a Canadian law professor's post about Schmidt was shared more than 2,000 times. His case also highlighted the Wyatt's role at the center of a yearslong political firestorm. Several public officials, including Rhode Island General Treasurer James Diossa, previously the mayor of Central Falls, have called for its closure. State lawmakers have introduced bills to close it down or, in the case of active bills in the House and Senate sessions, to stop ICE's ability to do business with Wyatt for civil immigration violations. Community members regularly hold protests outside the Wyatt's walls to draw attention to people detained inside. Since Trump's inauguration, there have been at least six such rallies. One, on March 18, was for Schmidt. Outside the Wyatt, people chanted his name and held signs that read 'FREE FABIAN' and 'DEFEND THE CONSTITUTION.' Schmidt heard them from inside. It gave him a surge of adrenaline. And a realization. 'Whoa,' he recalled thinking at the time. 'This is bigger than myself.' Schmidt spent his childhood traveling with his mother and stepfather, who worked as a tech consultant. He has lived in Denmark, South Africa, and England; he can read and write in four languages. When he was 16, his stepfather's work brought the family to Palo Alto, California. His stepfather's visa was for people with extraordinary abilities in their field — often called a 'genius visa' — and granted Schmidt legal entry as a dependent. Schmidt rode horses, played football, and embraced his new home. In 2022, he moved to Nashua to be closer to his mother, who had moved there. After a stint as a bartender, he found work as an electrical project lead at two affiliated companies: Greenerd Press & Machine Co., in Nashua, and Diamond Casting, in Hollis. Ian Wilson, a process engineer at Diamond Casting, called Schmidt a crucial member of the company. 'He's upstanding, friendly, gregarious, and very energetic,' he said. While bartending, Schmidt met and fell in love with Bhavani Hodgkins, who is now his fiancée. (Schmidt has an 8-year-old daughter from a previous relationship who lives with her mother in California.) He and Hodgkins have a black Lab named Django. 'This is where I'm from,' he said. 'I love this country.' The Donald W. Wyatt Detention Facility opened in 1993 on the site of a former textile factory. At the time, it helped address a shortage in pre-trial federal jail space in New England. During the search for a suitable Rhode Island site, a few cities and towns opposed the facility. But long-struggling Central Falls saw an economic opportunity. Shortly after the facility opened, then-Mayor Thomas Lazieh called the Wyatt 'a win now and a much bigger win down the road.' The ensuing years brought some payments from the detention center to the city; Central Falls received a total of $5.3 million in impact fees from Wyatt from 1994 through 2008, according to a 2012 joint legislative commission. But Wyatt also brought escapes, lawsuits over detainee mistreatment, criminal charges against staff members and wardens, a receivership, and — most notably — the 2008 death of an ICE detainee involving medical neglect and mistreatment. The death of that detainee, Hiu Lui 'Jason' Ng, prompted ICE to withdraw from the Wyatt for a decade. In 2019, the agency returned, amid an outcry from community groups, the Rhode Island ACLU, and elected officials. Today, the facility boasts a capacity of up to 730 adult male and 40 adult female detainees. According to a report in late March, the facility held 617 detainees for the U.S. Marshals Service (590 male, 27 female), and 116 detainees for Immigration and Customs Enforcement (112 male, 4 female). One of those male ICE detainees was Schmidt. He was housed in 10-by-7-foot cells with thick, pneumatically locking steel doors. One cell looked out over Macomber Stadium, where Central Falls High School plays athletics. The food was so bad, he said, he wouldn't feed it to his dog. Breakfast was some kind of 'oversalted…flour soup,' Schmidt said, along with a pinkish sausage of unknown origin, a dry piece of cornbread, and a serving of lukewarm milk. Lunch and dinner consisted of food that came from a can — chicken, green beans — and powdered potatoes that tasted like cardboard. Schmidt's account of the food provided at the Wyatt echoes a March report by the community organization Alliance to Mobilize Our Resistance (AMOR), which states, 'In the first two weeks of March, AMOR received messages from 16 people detained by ICE who specified that they would not have enough to eat without help purchasing food from the Commissary.' Schmidt was scared, sad, and depressed during his weeks at the Wyatt. He missed his daughter, his partner, his dog. 'Mentally, you have to learn how to block that out in prison or else you'll ruin yourself,' he said. 'You have to be able to be like, 'OK, I'm not gonna miss my dog today.'' In April, Hodgkins shared a note Schmidt wrote in a Facebook post: 'Time moves differently in here. It drags, heavy and cruel…I haven't seen the sky in weeks.' After Schmidt was moved to the Wyatt, Hodgkins spent hours on the phone — with him, his family members, attorneys and others — trying to strategize how to secure his release and ensure his safety and comfort until then. She was forced to navigate the substantial financial burden of having a loved one detained at Wyatt. To supplement the Wyatt's food options, Schmidt needed to purchase food items from the commissary. He needed money to buy more toothpaste and soap because supplies issued to detainees didn't last very long. Hodgkins created accounts so Schmidt could receive packages and communicate with her, via phone or video-chat. 'Every single thing that you do at the Wyatt Detention Facility requires (a) form of payment,' she said. A receipt Hodgkins shared on Facebook shows, between March 12 and May 6, she spent more than $2,600 in deposits into the facility's TouchPay system — deposits requiring fees ranging from around 6% of a deposit to more than 40%. In one instance, she was charged a $4.30 fee for a $10 deposit. The total fees, across 25 deposits, add up to more than $220. Here, again, Hodgkins' experiences aligned with conditions described in AMOR's report, which says Wyatt contractors charge 'exorbitant' rates for basic services, including phone calls, text messages, and food to supplement insufficient nutrition. 'In the first two weeks of March, 20 people detained reported to AMOR that calls were too expensive,' the report's authors write. 'During the same period, 43 individuals made new requests for Commissary help.' As she navigated these new challenges, Hodgkins said she was dealing with waves of her own anger, anguish, and sadness. She was fearful for Fabian's health and safety, that he would be deported, that they would lose the life they had built together. Hodgkins rearranged her work schedule so she could make the 80-mile drive from Nashua to Central Falls in time to meet the facility's strict rules that visitors arrive at least 30 minutes before visiting hours. During one visit, she saw an elderly woman with a walker turned away for arriving too late. Hodgkins found the facility intimidating: a massive concrete building with small windows surrounded by tall razor wire fences. The 'visits' were, in fact, a phone conversation with Schmidt while the two were separated by glass in a room lit by fluorescent lights. Once, when she washed her hands inside the facility, she noticed the water had a yellowish tinge. 'I really hope that no one has to go there to see their loved ones, because it's truly horrible,' she said. ICE did not respond to multiple requests for comment. When Rhode Island Current reached out to the Wyatt with detailed questions about the conditions both Hodgkins and Schmidt described, a spokesperson responded: 'The Wyatt has no comment at this time.' When protesters assembled outside the Wyatt on March 18 to call for Schmidt's release, his lawyer, David Keller, said Schmidt's past issues in California had been resolved and there hadn't been any new official charges pressed against his client. 'Imagine yourself being charged with a crime, held, and not even knowing what the crime is,' he told reporters. 'That's essentially his situation.' (Keller was unavailable to comment for this story.) About a week later, Schmidt finally learned the reason for his detention: a misdemeanor charge for drug possession from California that had already been resolved. Schmidt had pleaded no contest to the charge in 2015, despite disputing that the drugs were his; he was unaware that the controlled-substance conviction marked him in the immigration system as inadmissible. He said he was never notified of these implications of a no-contest plea, nor had he been stopped by CBP after an earlier international trip in 2017. Once the immigration charges against Schmidt became clear, lawyers for Schmidt on both coasts swung into action. In California, a criminal attorney re-opened the drug case and was able to get it dismissed from the system. (Grounds for that dismissal: the substance Schmidt was charged with possessing had never been tested to confirm what it was.) In Boston, his immigration attorney worked to secure a hearing with an immigration judge. The hearing finally happened on May 8. The judge dismissed Schmidt's immigration case in minutes. Time moves differently in here. It drags, heavy and cruel…I haven't seen the sky in weeks. – Note from Schmidt posted by Bhavani Hodgkins on Facebook Schmidt and Hodgkins finally reunited outside of ICE's Boston field office in Burlington, Massachusetts. The days since then have been joyful. Shortly after his release, Schmidt proposed to Hodgkins. He has enjoyed regular walks with his dog, cooking dinner with Hodgkins and reconnecting with friends. But the couple's life together is much different from the way it used to be. Schmidt estimates his time in custody cost him at least $65,000, between legal fees, lost wages, and the many costs of his Wyatt detention. An online fundraiser by his mother raised over $34,000. A second fundraiser launched by Hodgkins 'to help aid other legal immigrants with injustice' is ongoing. The emotional toll has also been steep. In the early days after his release, he couldn't take a nap while home alone, afraid people might come for him while he was sleeping. Routine activities like a trip to the grocery store can now trigger waves of panic. He is wary about driving, fearful of being pulled over and detained again over a minor infraction. 'I have to be strong when he's not, and I can't show my fear as much because I don't want him to get fearful,' Hodgkins said. 'We're going to spend the rest of our life healing from this trauma.' The couple have embraced new roles as advocates for immigrants navigating an unforgiving system. They are calling for more transparency in the detention process, to spare others from the weeks of confusion they experienced. And they are speaking out against the heavy-handed response Schmidt faced for what was essentially a paperwork issue. As dark as his experience was, Schmidt said he benefited from privileges many other ICE detainees lack. He's a white man who speaks fluent English, with access to a top-notch legal team. 'I don't even want to know what's happening to other people,' he said. Although the Wyatt holds immigration-related detainees, Hodgkins wants people to understand it is designed to hold criminals. She said the staff there had no interest in helping her with the logistics of visitation or keeping her partner comfortable and connected while inside. 'They're not going to be nice to you,' she said. 'They're not going to be helpful to you.' Schmidt went back to work in early June. When he was away, his projects were either put on hold, or his work had to be delegated to other people, Wilson, his coworker, said. 'I'm very relieved that he's been released,' he said, 'and very concerned for our judicial system.' In a June 2 Facebook post, Hodgkins wrote about feeling anxious, even as Schmidt was excited about his first day back to work. 'No one prepares you for the fear and uncertainty that comes with being separated from a loved one under such traumatic circumstances,' she wrote. 'But today, we're beginning to find our rhythm again.' This story was originally published by Rhode Island Current. Like Maine Morning Star, Rhode Island Current is part of States Newsroom, a nonprofit news network supported by grants and a coalition of donors as a 501c(3) public charity. Rhode Island Current maintains editorial independence. Contact Editor Janine L. Weisman for questions: info@

The Hill

26 minutes ago

• The Hill

Trump's immigration policy is a resounding success

The Democrats' decisive defeat in 2024 exposed their catastrophic failures on immigration, yet they are doubling down on the chaos with calculated recklessness. By fueling anti-ICE riots and pushing lawless policies, they have declared war on America's safety and its citizens. Meanwhile, President Trump is demolishing them on this issue, as Americans rise up against the Democrats' dangerous, self-destructive illegal immigration agenda. Trump's 'Worst Goes First' policy is doing precisely what Democrats wouldn't — putting Americans first. In Trump's first 100 days, 75 percent of ICE arrests targeted criminals with convictions or pending charges, according to data from the Department of Homeland Security. This relentless crackdown is making communities safer, despite Democrats' cries of 'fascism.' The border numbers don't lie. In May 2025, border encounters crashed to 8,725 — a staggering 93 percent drop from May 2024, when 117,905 crossed under Biden. The real shocker? Not a single illegal border-crosser was released into the U.S. in May 2025, compared to more than 62,000 dumped into the country in May 2024 under Biden. Americans are fed up. A New York Times poll shows 87 percent support deporting illegal immigrants with criminal records. Even 63 percent back deporting those who entered illegally under Biden, and 55 percent want all illegal immigrants removed. These numbers obliterate Democrats' delusions. Legal immigrant voters may be turning on Democrats harder than anyone else. In 2020, they favored Democrats by 32 points on the immigration issue. Now they trust Trump and Republicans more by a net 8 points — an astonishing 40-point swing, per CNN's Harry Enten. The verdict is clear: Americans—and immigrants—are done with Democrats' lawless and calculated sabotage of border enforcement under Biden. They are rallying behind Trump's bold, results-driven vision of law and order. While Trump's immigration policies deliver results, Democrats are consumed by petty theatrics. Their obsession with stunts is endangering Americans. Rep. Lamonica McIver (D-N.J.) has been indicted for obstructing law enforcement during a DHS operation. Sen. Alex Padilla (D-Calif.) turned a Homeland Security press event into a circus, only to be detained for his antics. These aren't isolated incidents — they comprise a pattern of Democrats prioritizing showmanship over safety. In Wisconsin, Judge Hannah Dugan was indicted for allegedly helping an illegal alien evade Immigration and Customs Enforcement. A judge betraying the very laws she's sworn to uphold? It is a disgrace that undermines trust in the justice system and cripples law enforcement. The contrast is stark: Trump delivers results, while Democrats play games with American cities fuel chaos, shielding dangerous criminal illegal aliens and crippling law enforcement. By refusing to work with immigration agents to hand over immigrants who have been arrested, these jurisdictions simply force them to go looking for them in neighborhoods — endangering both citizens and non-criminal illegal migrants, as well as wasting resources. Meanwhile, violent illegal alien offenders exploit these policies to escape justice. Worse, sanctuary policies push the lie that illegal entry is harmless. It isn't. Under Title 8 of the U.S. Code, illegal entry is a crime, and re-entry after deportation carries even more severe penalties. Ignoring these laws doesn't just erode the rule of law — it sends a reckless message: Break the law, face no consequences. Sanctuary cities don't protect — they endanger. Americans deserve better. Illegal immigration isn't just a border crisis. It is an all-out assault on America's sovereignty and safety. Under Biden, individuals from over 160 countries, including terror-sponsoring nations, stormed the border. Many destroyed their identification papers in order to avoid being vetted. Hostile regimes such as Venezuela and Cuba refuse to share intelligence, leaving America vulnerable. The result? Criminals and potential terrorists have been slipping through, endangering American lives. And to call them 'undocumented' instead of 'illegal' isn't compassion — it's a blatant lie. Democrats are intentionally whitewashing lawbreaking to push mass amnesty, all to secure a permanent voter base. This isn't policy — it's a reckless power grab that jeopardizes national security for the sake of political control. The price? Potentially catastrophic. Democrats' relentless obstruction of Trump's immigration policies is nothing short of a betrayal of America. By championing open borders and sanctuary cities, they have turned their backs on safety, security, and the rule of law. While Americans overwhelmingly demand stronger enforcement, Democrats bow to radical ideologies, leaving our nation exposed and vulnerable. Their reckless, self-serving agenda is an insult to every American. But in 2026, voters will again deliver a clear verdict: no more lies, no more chaos, no more betrayal. Ford O'Connell is an attorney, a veteran Republican operative and political analyst, and adjunct professor at George Washington University's Graduate School of Political Management.

an hour ago

What to know about debate over protesters and ICE agents wearing masks amid immigration crackdowns

CHICAGO -- President Donald Trump and his allies have repeatedly called for mask-wearing at protests to be banned and for protesters whose faces are covered to be arrested, with the most recent push following demonstrations in Los Angeles over immigration raids. Legal experts told The Associated Press there are a variety of reasons people may want to cover their faces while protesting, including to protect their health, for religious reasons, to avoid government retaliation, to prevent surveillance and doxing, or to protect themselves from tear gas. With legislative action happening across the U.S., they say it's only a matter of time before the issue returns to the courts. Protesters, meanwhile, have voiced anger over footage of Immigration and Customs Enforcement agents covering their faces at immigration raids and masked officers at the Los Angeles protests, calling it a double standard. Here are some things to know about the debate over face masks: At least 18 states and Washington, D.C., have laws that restrict masks and other face coverings in some way, said Elly Page, senior legal adviser with the International Center for Not-For-Profit Law. Since October 2023, at least 16 bills have been introduced in eight states and Congress to restrict masks at protests, according to the center. Many of these laws date back to the 1940s and '50s when many states passed anti-mask laws as a response to the Ku Klux Klan, whose members hid their identities while terrorizing victims. Amid protests against the war in Gaza and the Republican president's immigration policies, Page said there have been attempts to revive these rarely used laws to target protesters, sometimes inconsistently. Trump's calls to arrest protesters for wearing masks came as federal agents were seen donning masks while conducting raids in Los Angeles and other U.S. cities. Democratic lawmakers in California have introduced legislation aiming to stop federal agents and local police officers from wearing face masks amid concerns that ICE agents were attempting to hide their identities and avoid accountability for potential misconduct during high-profile immigration raids. The issue also came up at a congressional hearing on June 12, when Minnesota Gov. Tim Walz, a Democrat, criticized ICE agents wearing masks during raids, saying: 'Don't wear masks. Identify who you are.' Republican federal officials have maintained that masks protect agents from doxing. Department of Homeland Security Assistant Secretary Tricia McLaughlin called the California bill 'despicable." Geoffrey Stone, a University of Chicago law professor, said the U.S. Supreme Court has made clear that the right to free speech includes the right to speak out anonymously. But he said how it should apply to protesters wearing masks remains 'an unresolved First Amendment question.' For Stone, that raises a key question: Why should protesters and ICE agents be subject to different rules? 'The government doesn't want them to be targeted because they engaged in their responsibilities as ICE agents,' Stone said. 'But that's the same thing as the argument as to why you want demonstrators to wear masks. They want to wear masks so they can do their 'jobs' of engaging in free speech properly. The same rationale for the officers wearing masks should apply to the protesters.'