Florida leads nation with all 67 counties cooperating with ICE
Sgt. Oscar D’Lassalas, 40, leads the SWAT team at the Walton County Sheriff’s Office in DeFuniak Springs, Florida, and last year became a certified 287(g) task force officer, a designation that lets him enforce certain parts of federal immigration law in the field, according to NPR. He completed 40 hours of online training to get certified; the Trump administration accelerated the course, which previously required a monthlong in-person commitment, as it sought to expand the number of agencies participating in the program.
“To me, it was just another way to help out as much as I can in my community,” D’Lassalas told NPR.
The 287(g) program dates back 30 years and has been used by Democratic and Republican administrations to varying degrees; the Trump administration has significantly expanded it. Under a task force agreement — the version Walton County signed onto last year — officers are deputized to interrogate someone suspected of being in the U.S. illegally, collect evidence, or make immigration arrests. The program has drawn civil rights lawsuits alleging racial profiling and complaints that it drains local resources.
Sheriff Michael Adkinson said the office’s role in the program is narrowly focused. “We’re certainly not out doing immigration raids. That’s not what we do,” he said. “But if we come across those individuals who are committing a crime or endangering someone else, in the state of Florida, then we’re certainly going to do that.”
Sam Lester, an immigrant rights attorney with the ACLU of Florida, said immigration enforcement in the state differs from the aggressive, highly visible operations seen elsewhere. “In Florida, it’s much more under the radar and in many ways more insidious,” he said. “By far, the vast majority of immigration enforcement is done by local and state law enforcement who are deputized under 287(g).”
Lester said the training provided under the agreements is insufficient. “We hear of instances of U.S. citizens and lawful permanent residents who are Latino who speak with accents, and they’re being profiled. And they’re being asked about their immigration status and, in some cases, even arrested,” he said.
D’Lassalas said that is not something he would do. “Being pulled over by a trooper and he starts asking me just for my status simply because of my complexion. I think that’s unfair to ask,” he said. Adkinson said his office prioritizes professionalism and respect: “There’s a big difference between what you can do and what you should do.”
The Trump administration is offering billions of dollars in incentives to law enforcement agencies willing to work with ICE. Outside its 287(g) work, the Walton County Sheriff’s Office signed a deal last year that turned about 48 beds in its jail into a 72-hour hold facility for immigrant detainees; under that deal, the federal government reimburses the county $72 per inmate per day. Florida’s State Board of Immigration Enforcement additionally approved more than $9 million in grants this summer for the sheriff’s office’s work as an ICE holding facility.
Walton County sits in the Florida Panhandle, halfway between Pensacola and Tallahassee. It touches Alabama to the north, where it is largely rural and home to many middle-to-lower-income residents, and its southern border meets the Gulf of Mexico, where multimillion-dollar homes line beach communities such as Santa Rosa Beach and Seaside. Construction sites dot both sides of U.S. 331, and the county is heavily reliant on immigrant labor for construction and tourism, NPR reported.
Undocumented workers in the county say the enforcement partnership has changed their lives. Alfonso, a 36-year-old from Central America who has been in the U.S. for four years and works in construction, told NPR he has stopped going to church or the beach — once his favorite things to do — to lessen the risk of detention. “I’m afraid. I want to keep working here, but I’m panicking,” he said. NPR used only his first name because he is undocumented.
Alfonso’s cousin Ronaldo, 22, came to the U.S. alone from Central America when he was 15 and remains undocumented. “It will be God’s will. If they send me back to my country, I think I’ll find freedom. This country feels like jail,” he told NPR. He often thinks about returning home, but he is saving money so he can one day buy a house in Central America. “I still have goals to accomplish here,” he said.
The fear reaches the county’s building industry: developers say it has become more difficult to find laborers because many immigrants are scared of ICE, and NPR reported that the vast majority of homes being built in the fast-growing county rely on skilled immigrant labor. It also shows up in local commerce — La Guerrerense, a family-owned shop in downtown DeFuniak Springs that sells Mexican groceries and ready-to-eat dishes, has fewer customers lately, according to a store clerk, because more immigrants are afraid to venture out in public.
County Commissioner Danny Glidewell, whose district includes DeFuniak Springs, said he and many other residents he has spoken to support the sheriff’s office’s cooperation with ICE. “Most people want immigration enforced. If you ask them, do they want illegal immigrants? They’ll tell you, no,” he said. Glidewell also said Walton County, like much of the country, has an affordable housing shortage.
Adkinson said the enforcement role carries a cost: immigrant crime victims are reluctant to report crimes out of fear. “They don’t come to us because they’re afraid of being deported,” he said. He added that some immigrants assume all law enforcement is the same. “Then conversely, they don’t come to us because in their country of origin, they don’t have great relationships with the police to start with. It’s extremely problematic. And I don’t know how we overcome that,” he said.
On patrol, D’Lassalas described how 287(g) works on the ground. In a traffic stop, he runs the driver’s name through local and national databases to check for active charges or warrants, including immigration-related ones, but he said he never assumes anyone’s legal status beforehand and does not ask about status when he requests identification. For a minor infraction with no warrant, “I’ll cut them loose,” he said; with a warrant, “I have no discretion. I have to take them to jail.” When other agencies call for help on immigration matters, he said, it is usually for interpretation — he speaks Spanish fluently — or for transporting people already in custody. “We’re just a group of people that have been given an additional task,” he said.
D’Lassalas, whose father was an immigrant from Colombia and whose late grandmother was as well, said he did not seek out the training — he was chosen as a bilingual sergeant. “I was a sergeant that’s bilingual. They thought that I could be of use for that assignment,” he said. “I make sure that anytime I interact with anybody, I don’t care what status they are, that we can interact as human beings and we can be respectful.” He said his primary duty is to the people of Walton County, not the federal government’s 287(g) program.
Adkinson repeatedly framed the work as duty. “If the law is not unethical, immoral or illegal, I have an obligation to follow it,” he said. “I don’t get to sit in judgment. I have to carry out these duties.”