Joel Andre, a seventeen‑year‑old high school junior who loves soccer, lives with his mother Carine and younger sister Estafania just outside Portland, Maine. The trio’s life was upended last November when immigration agents seized them at the South Texas Family Residential Center in Dilley, Texas, separating them from their nineteen‑year‑old sister Olivia. Joel remembers the daily grind of detention: “The food, the water you drink, even the water you shower with, is the worst.” The family’s ordeal began after Carine, an outspoken activist against the ruling regime in the Democratic Republic of Congo, fled her homeland seeking asylum. Their arrival in 2022 was followed by a thorough vetting process that cleared them to await their immigration hearing as a low‑risk family. They complied with every check‑in and appointment, yet in February 2025 a federal judge ordered their removal. Fearing deportation back to the Congo, they attempted to cross into Canada but were turned away and returned to U.S. custody, landing once again at Dilley.
Inside the facility, which consists of rows of trailers managed by for‑profit contractor CoreCivic, detainees report chronic shortages of clean drinking water, mold‑infested meals, and constant illumination that disrupts sleep. Elora Mukherjee, director of Columbia University’s Immigrants Rights Clinic and the family’s attorney, has visited Dilley and says conditions are “substandard” and violate the Flores Settlement Agreement, a court‑ordered decree that limits the detention of children to twenty days unless they pose a security threat—a standard most detainees do not meet. The settlement, in place for nearly three decades, was designed to protect minors from prolonged confinement.
The family’s experience is part of a broader pattern. Since President Donald Trump returned to office in 2025, more than 6,300 children under eighteen have been held by immigration authorities, with almost half placed at Dilley. Ninety‑seven percent of those children had no criminal record. Representative Joaquin Castro of Texas, who has visited the center multiple times, called Dilley “the only place in America where we imprison young children who have done nothing wrong.” He argues that the harsh environment is intended to send a message that undocumented families are unwelcome.
When President Trump reopened Dilley in 2025, he awarded CoreCivic a contract worth $180 million per year to operate the center. The company rejects accusations of neglect, insisting its facilities meet federal standards and undergo regular audits. In response to media inquiries, the Department of Homeland Security issued a statement asserting that detainees receive “proper meals, quality water, blankets, medical treatment” and that the Flores Settlement is “a tool of the left.” Both statements were dismissed by advocates as attempts to downplay documented suffering.
The Andre family spent nearly four months at Dilley. During that time, Joel’s sister Olivia remained detained while her mother and younger siblings were released in March 2026. The separation left the family in limbo, with Estafania expressing uncertainty about when they might reunite fully. After a prolonged legal battle, Olivia was finally freed after more than five months, allowing the family to celebrate a rare reunion at an airport in Maine.
Lawmakers continue to press for change. Congressman Castro has called for the shutdown of Dilley and highlighted the need for transparency; reporters are barred from entering the facility, and even members of Congress must surrender their phones upon arrival. The administration’s 2027 budget proposal includes plans to add 30,000 more beds in family detention centers, a move that critics warn could expand the very system they seek to reform.
Human‑rights groups argue that public awareness is still limited. Mukherjee says, “Americans don’t yet know what is happening at Dilley. Once more people learn, there will be pressure for accountability.” The family’s story, now circulating through news outlets and social media, illustrates the human cost of a policy framework that treats asylum‑seeking children as criminals rather than victims of persecution.
The debate over Dilley reflects a larger national conversation about immigration enforcement under President Trump’s administration. While officials tout strict border security and the need to deter illegal entry, critics point to the moral implications of detaining vulnerable families in conditions that many describe as punitive. As the legal battles over the Flores Settlement continue and Congress weighs legislation on family detention, the Andre family’s experience serves as a stark reminder of the stakes involved for countless children caught in the system.