By John Q. Hosedrinker 
Two cases of measles have been confirmed at the Dilley immigration detention center in Texas, contributing to a growing nationwide outbreak. The virus is spreading rapidly, with states like South Carolina, Arizona, and Utah reporting hundreds of cases and significant hospitalizations. Experts warn that detention centers, with their close quarters and potential for poor health conditions, can become breeding grounds for infectious diseases like measles, posing a risk to both detainees and surrounding communities. Federal officials have remained largely silent on national vaccination campaigns, placing the burden of prevention on state and local efforts amid rising vaccine hesitancy.
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The growing calls to shut down the ICE facility in Texas are reaching a fever pitch, and understandably so, especially with the alarming news of a measles outbreak within its walls. It’s a situation that ignites a visceral reaction, a feeling that each subsequent detail is more infuriating than the last. To think of detention centers as potential “epidemic engines,” as places capable of becoming “factories for manufacturing virus at incredible scale and incredible pace,” is a chilling prospect. The fear that these outbreaks will inevitably “overthrow the walls of these prisons” isn’t just hyperbole; it’s a stark warning about the uncontrolled spread of disease in such concentrated environments.
The demand to “Shut Dilley down” isn’t just a wish; for many, it’s a cry for basic humanity. The idea that such conditions could be considered a “feature not a bug” by those in power is truly horrifying. It raises questions about the motivations and the moral compass of those who perpetuate these systems. The comparison to historical atrocities, like the deliberate exposure of Native Americans to smallpox-infected blankets, is deeply troubling and paints a grim picture of intentional harm. The notion that “genocide” might be a relevant descriptor in this context is a testament to the profound level of concern and outrage.
The presence of measles in a facility housing children is a particularly alarming development. It’s like a “canary in the coal mine,” signaling that more dangerous and widespread diseases like typhus and tuberculosis could soon follow. Historically, disease has always been a weapon of concentration camps, and to witness its potential resurgence in the modern age is a testament to the “malicious and depraved minds” that could conceive of such places. The sheer contradiction of calling oneself “pro-life” while presiding over conditions that endanger vulnerable children is met with understandable disbelief and anger. How can anyone support a dedicated ICE facility for children, especially one where measles is actively spreading? It feels like a profound failure, a betrayal of every conceivable way we should have protected these young lives.
A pressing question arises: do these detention facilities even provide basic preventative measures like vaccines? The lack of clear answers is deeply concerning, especially when considering that many of these children may come from regions with different vaccination histories or limited access to healthcare. The image of children, some as young as two months old, being held in these conditions, concentrated together, is heart-wrenching. The notion that they are potentially dying, or will die, before any adequate action is taken is a grave indictment of the current system.
The fundamental question of why ICE facilities for children even exist in the first place is being asked with increasing urgency. Many advocate for a complete shutdown of ICE, proposing alternatives like “NICE: Normalized Immigration Care and Education.” This highlights a desire for a more humane and supportive approach to immigration. The thought that children could be intentionally exposed to diseases like measles is a deeply disturbing one, and the responsibility for such a crisis falls squarely on those who enable these facilities.
The current political climate fuels much of this anger. The idea that “I haven’t seen” and “it’s a joke” are still acceptable responses from officials when faced with such moral outrages is infuriating. Apathy and ignorance in the face of such clear ethical breaches demonstrate a lack of genuine commitment to governing morally. Republican politicians are seen by some as benefiting from taxpayer dollars without fulfilling their responsibility to address these critical issues, leading to a sentiment that a “gold plated doormat” might be more effective.
The comparison to the historical mistreatment of Native Americans is not made lightly. Every aspect of these child detention facilities, especially when disease outbreaks occur, is seen as “deplorable.” The calls to shut them down are met with agreement, but there’s a grim prediction that things will “get so much worse.” The fear is that “innocent children will die,” and that media outlets will continue to present a distorted narrative, portraying those held in ICE facilities as merely “criminals.” The full horror of the situation, including potential instances of sexual abuse and exploitation, has yet to fully emerge, adding another layer of dread.
The notion that the solution to these problems is to “build the walls higher” is seen as a deeply flawed and cynical response, particularly when presented with sarcasm. It’s crucial to acknowledge that not all Texans support these policies, and many are deeply “mad as hell” about the existence of these centers. The federal government, however, holds the ultimate decision-making power regarding the location and operation of these facilities, leaving local communities with limited recourse. While there’s hope that electoral changes might bring about shifts in policy, the specter of more extreme measures looms large.
The label “pro-life” is increasingly being seen as a misnomer, a “sneaky misnomer” that actually signifies being “anti-choice.” This framing highlights a perceived fundamental disagreement on core values. A significant portion of the population, a “solid third of the country,” is perceived as wanting these children to suffer or even die, which is a deeply disturbing realization for many. The fact that these are federal detention centers, holding children from across the nation, underscores the widespread implications of these policies. The responsibility for change rests not just with Texas, but with the federal government’s decisions on where to house these vulnerable populations. The path forward is fraught with challenges, and the moral imperative to act is stronger than ever.