More than 25 years ago I made the difficult decision to cross the border and emigrate to this great country. It’s been one of the best decisions I ever made, but it came with a difficult price tag.

Although I was relieved to have finally made it to the United States, I was alone, without my friends and family, and unable to leave the city limits of El Paso. I was undocumented and couldn’t risk traveling anywhere that required me to pass through a Customs and Border Protection (CBP) interior checkpoint or port of entry.  

"I know that the increased militarization of border communities keeps so many residents from their family and support networks. "

When my mother passed away I couldn’t even travel to Mexico say goodbye to her or attend her funeral. That is a painful weight I will always carry in my soul. 

I know that I am not alone in this pain. 

Federal regulations give U.S. Customs and Border Protection (CBP) authority to operate within 100 miles of any U.S. external boundary, including the southern border. Border Patrol operates more than 30 permanent checkpoints -- often complete with surveillance cameras and police dogs -- across Texas, New Mexico, Arizona, and California. They also operate roving patrols throughout communities and routinely pull over and harass residents. Undocumented families live in fear that they will be stopped by Border Patrol agents and avoid going through checkpoints altogether. 

Though I am now a citizen of the United States, and finally enjoy the freedom to travel and visit with my daughter and grandchildren, I know that the increased militarization of border communities keeps so many residents from their family and support networks. 

This type of de facto family separation is less visible than the family separation that occurred under President Trump, but it is real. The harm people endure -- much like the harm caused by Trump’s policy of separating migrant children from their parents -- is the result of an approach to the border that is focused on militarization and punishment. 

"It’s past time we eliminate interior border checkpoints and drastically reduce the number of Border Patrol agents in the region."

A militarized approach to the border not only harms undocumented people, but it also harms entire communities. Border Patrol agents racially profile and harass people of color across the region. They drive recklessly through our communities and fatally wound our neighbors in vehicle pursuits. CBP’s use of intrusive surveillance technologies erode border residents’ privacy rights and force them to live under the constant gaze of the federal government.

It’s past time we eliminate interior border checkpoints and drastically reduce the number of Border Patrol agents in the region. Residents who were born in this country and born elsewhere all deserve to feel safe in the communities they call home and to move freely without fear of harassment by Border Patrol. Instead of continuing to militarize the border region, the federal government should lead with compassion and embrace a humane approach to the border.

As legislators earlier this year debated closing New Mexico’s numerous private prisons and immigration detention centers, an Otero County official made the case for sparing a controversial detention facility in his county.

The Otero County Processing Center (OCPC), which holds men detained by U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE), couldn’t close because it was the only source of revenue to pay off tens of millions of dollars in bond debt, County Attorney Michael Eshleman told legislators and reporters.

Closure would risk defaulting on the bonds, hurting the county’s credit and dealing a “significant blow to the county budget,” Eshleman told The NM Political Report.

But Reilly White, a public finance expert who recently reviewed Otero County’s bond filings, painted a markedly different picture. The county is under no obligation to pay back those bonds if the facility closes, the expert said, and a default would have little, if any, impact on its credit rating. 

The facility provides about 3 percent of the county’s annual revenues. 

Otero County’s bond obligation has been “a critical piece” in efforts to close OCPC, said Rep. Angelica Rubio (D-Doña Ana), who co-sponsored a bill earlier this year to close privately-run facilities in the state. The facility has been dogged for years by allegations of unsanitary conditions, medical neglect and mistreatment of detainees.

“Part of the reason we weren’t able to gain the kind of support we would’ve wanted this past session was because of the lobbyist for the Otero County facility using the bonds as a reason to not target the facility,” Rubio said.

Eshleman has since left Otero County. County Manager Pamela Heltner did not respond to repeated requests for comment.

Criticism of OCPC, which is run by the private Utah-based Management & Training Corporation (MTC),  has been growing for years. In 2017, a Department of Homeland Security Office of Inspector General report found moldy bathrooms and broken telephones at the facility, as well as frequent, unjustified use of solitary confinement. One man told inspectors he was placed in solitary for multiple days because he shared coffee with a fellow detainee. 

The problems at OCPC and four other facilities reviewed “undermine the protection of detainees’ rights, their humane treatment, and the provision of a safe and healthy environment,” the report said.

A study published this year by nonprofits Advocate Visitors with Immigrants in Detention (AVID) in the Chihuahuan Desert and Innovation Law Lab found two-thirds of detainees at OCPC who spoke to legal advocates had problems with the facility. More than half of the complaints were about access to medical care or due process violations.

Over the years, people detained there have reported bad food, harassment of LGBTQ individuals, difficulty accessing attorneys and more, said Nia Rucker, policy counsel at the ACLU of New Mexico.

“The abuse is beyond just the food and the conditions,” Rucker said. “It also goes to the staff, and it goes to all the actors that are involved in someone’s stay and detention that are not really taking care of people.”

An MTC spokesperson did not respond to a request for comment.

‘An unsolicited proposal’

OCPC is not Otero County’s first foray into for-profit detention. In 2003, the county built a prison facility -- also run by MTC -- to detain people picked up by county officers and the U.S. Marshals Service, among others.

Then, in October 2006, Otero “made an unsolicited proposal to ICE regarding the County’s ability to provide additional detention space,” the county’s bond document states. ICE was interested, and the following year Otero submitted a detailed proposal for a 1,096-bed facility matching ICE’s specifications.

The facility was to be paid for with a $62.3 million revenue bond, a financial tool that began growing in popularity throughout the country in the early 2000s, UNM Associate Professor of Finance Reilly White said.

Traditional bonds, called general obligation bonds, are paid with a city or county’s tax revenue and generally require a public vote. Revenue bonds, on the other hand, are paid exclusively by the revenue generated by the particular project they’re funding. And because taxes are not on the line, they don’t require a public vote.

“The implementation of these various sentencing alternatives could negatively impact the supply of prisoners which could be incarcerated in the Facility.”

The trade-off for protecting the county’s taxes is a higher interest rate. The OCPC revenue bonds were originally issued with a 9 percent interest rate, White said, compared to a likely interest rate between 3 and 5 percent for a similar general obligation bond.

“That’s an extraordinarily expensive bond for financing purposes and it implies there’s a lot of risk in bonds like these,” he said.

The risk was outlined in the bond itself, which said the profitability of the facility depended on there always being more people detained than there is space to hold them.

Work release programs and tools like GPS monitoring presented a financial risk for investors who bought the bonds because “The implementation of these various sentencing alternatives could negatively impact the supply of prisoners which could be incarcerated in the Facility.”

Outstanding debt

In January, Otero County’s then-attorney Eshleman said that without the contract with ICE, the county would be left with $58 million in outstanding bond debt, according to the Santa Fe New Mexican.

Otero budget documents show about $45.2 million are still due on the bond between now and 2028. 

Were OCPC to close tomorrow, White said, an account set up for paying back the bonds has enough reserves to keep making payments while the county decides what to do next.

“This would involve, my guess would be, a herculean effort by county officials as well as federal officials to say let’s look at this,” White said, “can we repurpose this prison for taking state inmates or something else?”

Like a home bankruptcy, if that process failed the property would likely go up for sale, with that money going to pay back bondholders. The difference between the sales price and the outstanding bond debt would be a loss for investors who purchased the bonds. 

There would be no obligation for the county to use tax money to pay off the bonds or the difference between the sale of the property and the remaining debt.

As to whether that would affect Otero County’s credit rating, “The short answer is not directly,” White said.

If the county decided to take out general obligation bonds paid for with taxes to purchase the facility, that could have an impact on its credit rating, he said. The loss of income from the facility could also play a role, although revenue is only one of the factors, along with county management, outstanding pension obligations and the overall tax base, that go into credit ratings.

“The real reason they want to keep it open is so they can continue making money, regardless of the human costs that result.”

Since fiscal year 2018, Otero County has received almost $1.3 million in revenue from OCPC, less than the nearly $2.3 million it has made from the prison facility also managed by MTC, according to county budget documents. Last fiscal year, OCPC brought in $457,730 to the county, roughly 3 percent of its total revenues. 

“Otero County actively sought out a way to profit off of human misery and succeeded in making over a million a year,” said Katie Hoeppner, communications director at the ACLU of New Mexico. “The real reason they want to keep it open is so they can continue making money, regardless of the human costs that result.”

Kristin Greer Love, a Central New Mexico Community College teacher and policy attorney who has worked on ICE detention in the state, pointed out that the facility could actually be a financial liability for the county.

“If they had one lawsuit, that could totally wipe away years from financial gains from this horrible, cruel detention center,” Greer Love, who previously worked at the ACLU of New Mexico, said.

At the same time, she said, the jobs created by ICE detention centers tend to be difficult, unattractive and low-paying. 

“It seems to me (Otero) could invest in something else,” she said, “that would be better for everyone.”

Contact Invesitgative Reporter Leonardo Castañeda at [email protected]

“I got to that point where I didn’t wake up thinking about using. I didn’t go to bed thinking about using. I wasn’t scared to wake up in the morning and be sick. I was actually okay.”

When a doctor prescribed S.B.* Methadone two years ago, her life changed for the better. For the first time in twenty years, she was able to stop using heroin, a highly addictive opiod that kills thousands of Americans every year. Although S.B. grew up surrounded by drugs, and has suffered from the trauma of sexual abuse and incarceration, she began to imagine a stable future for herself.

"'Hey, where did that thought go?' I never acted on it. This is amazing to me and would not be possible without my methadone."

Then, in the spring of 2020, while S.B. was participating in the Metropolitan Detention Center’s (MDC) community corrections program and undergoing treatment for her addiction, she found out her mother, who lives in Colorado, contracted Covid-19. Concerned for her parents’ health, she made the difficult decision to travel to see them, even though it violated the conditions of her probation.

After arriving, she visited a local methadone clinic and resumed treatment. Methadone helped her to stay off of heroin when, in the fall, S.B’s worst fear came true: her father contracted Covid-19 and passed away.

“When my dad died, I didn’t think I could handle that without using heroin,” S.B. said. “But then I would have a thought about using, and wake up the next day and think, hey, where did that thought go? I never acted on it. This is amazing to me and would not be possible without my methadone.”

Shortly after her dad passed away, S.B. suffered another blow. She was arrested for absconding from probation and taken to a Colorado jail, before she was ultimately sent back to New Mexico.

At her hearing, the judge sentenced S.B. to time in New Mexico Corrections Department custody, which does not allow the use of methadone, or any other medication treatment for opioid use disorder (OUD), except for pregnant people suffering from addiction.

S.B.’s criminal defense attorney successfully petitioned the judge to allow her to first go to MDC, which allows the use of methadone, so she could slowly withdraw prior to her transfer to NMCD. Though S.B. was relieved that she would have some time to taper off her medication, she was still terrified at the prospect of losing her lifeline.

Cycles of addiction and incarceration

Like millions of other Americans and thousands of others in New Mexico, S.B. is diagnosed with severe opioid use disorder (OUD), a chronic relapsing brain disease. OUD, like diabetes or high blood pressure, requires medical intervention for years or even a lifetime.

Recognizing the severity of the disease and that medication for addiction treatment (MAT) is the standard of care, MDC has allowed people who enter the jail while on methadone to continue treatment since 2005. In 2017, the jail also began allowing people suffering from addiction who were not already on medication to enroll behind bars. In doing so, they hoped to reduce suffering, recidivism, and crime rates. Many other jails and corrections departments across the country have followed suit in an effort to end cycles of addiction and incarceration.

"I don’t want to die in here or when I am released, but as my dose gets lower I have to remind myself of this."

In refusing to treat OUD like any other chronic disease that requires care, NMCD  subjects people to needless suffering. As S.B. dropped below a therapeutic dose while awaiting transfer to NMCD custody, she began to experience brutal withdrawal symptoms such as body pain, opioid cravings, loss of sleep, impulses for self harm, depression, and extreme anxiety about her ability to stay free from heroin use while incarcerated.

“Being forced to withdraw from methadone makes my depression and anxiety very bad,” S.B. said. “I have a lot of family members who were my age who killed themselves either on purpose or accidentally overdosed. This scares me. I don’t want to do that. I don’t want to die in here or when I am released, but as my dose gets lower I have to remind myself of this.”

NMCD’s refusal to provide MAT, which is the well-recognized standard of care, also puts people at risk for relapse and reentry into prison. A 2018 report by the New Mexico Legislative Finance Committee found that one-half of the recidivism rate in New Mexico was attributed to parole revocations for technical violations related to drug use and about one-third of the people admitted to NMCD prisons were there as the result of failed drug tests and missed appointments.

“NMCD could help prevent people suffering from addiction from winding up back in custody by providing them medication that has been proven to effectively treat OUD,” said ACLU of New Mexico staff attorney Lalita Moskowitz. “Instead, they needlessly subject people to suffering and jeopardize their chances of breaking the cycle of addiction and incarceration.”

"The Corrections Department’s blanket refusal to provide MAT amounts to deliberate indifference to a serious medical need."

Once they leave prison, formerly incarcerated people are also at an increased risk for fatal overdose. A 2007 study published in the New England Journal of Medicine found that during the two weeks following their release from prison, formerly incarcerated people are 12,900% as likely as non-incarcerated people to die of an overdose. A 2017 study published in Addiction found that, in contrast, people who receive MAT while incarcerated are 85% less likely to die of a drug overdose within a month of their release.

ACLU intervenes

In May, The ACLU of New Mexico and the Law Office of Ryan J. Villa intervened to prevent further threat to S.B.’s health and life, filing an emergency motion in a lawsuit to demand she be provided her prescribed medication for addiction treatment when transferred to NMCD. The lawsuit also asks the Court to find that NMCD’s blanket ban on MAT is a violation of the American with Disabilities Act and the Eighth Amendment prohibition on cruel and unusual punishment.

“The Corrections Department’s blanket refusal to provide MAT amounts to deliberate indifference to a serious medical need,” said Moskowitz. “NMCD has a constitutional, legal, and moral duty to provide adequate medical care to our client.”

Through her lawsuit, S.B. not only hopes that she will soon be able to resume a therapeutic dose of methadone, but that other people like her who are struggling to stay off drugs will be able to receive the treatment they need.   

“They just want to lock people up and throw away the key,” S.B. said. “Just like there are shots for Covid, there is medication for people with addiction. I think they’re just as important and I don’t understand how come they don’t see it like that.”

*Initials have been used to protect S.B.’s identity