Mukta Joshi is an investigative reporter at Mississippi Today. She is spending a year as a New York Times Local Investigations fellow examining immigration and criminal justice issues. She can be reached at mukta.joshi@nytimes.com.

I first heard about Delvin Francisco Rodriguez four months ago when ICE published a notification about his death on its website. 

The agency shared only a few details.

According to the post, Rodriguez, 39, who was being held at the ICE detention center in Adams County, Mississippi, had died after a medical emergency landed him at Merit Health hospital in Natchez, in December. 

A second post two months later said that Rodriguez had tried to hang himself in the detention center. Staff members found him, tried to revive him and sent him to the hospital, the report said, but Rodriguez did not regain consciousness and his family agreed to remove him from life support about 10 days later.

At the time, that’s all we knew from official sources.

When I read ICE’s version of events, as sparse as they were, I didn’t have a specific reason to wonder if there was more to the story. Still, the unexpected deaths of people living in ICE custody were becoming a flashpoint.

When Rodriguez died, on Dec. 14, he was the fourth person in four days to die in ICE custody across the nation.

It was a grim year. ICE reported 33 in-custody deaths in 2025, making it the deadliest year for ICE detention centers since the agency was formed. Complaints of deplorable living conditions, spoiled food and medical neglect had been piling up.

The high rate of deaths has continued this year, with ICE reporting 15 more through early April. Several of the deaths have been ruled suicides. And last month, The Associated Press reported that guards in a Texas ICE facility had been overheard betting on which detainee would die by suicide next.

In light of all this, I started trying to learn more about what exactly happened to Rodriguez.

I knew that ICE was unlikely to share details beyond what it had already published on its website. In the five times I’ve reached out to its local spokesman, he has never answered my questions or provided a comment. Representatives for CoreCivic, a private prison operator that runs the Natchez facility, have been polite and responsive but not particularly informative. 

Regardless, I started working on a list of questions for ICE and CoreCivic. I knew Rodriguez had been arrested in September and held somewhere else before his transfer to Mississippi. Where had ICE held him, and what had happened there? Does ICE pass along details regarding the well-being of detainees when they change facilities? And if so, had it communicated any such information about Rodriguez to administrators at Adams?

In the meantime, I had been trying – unsuccessfully – to find Rodriguez’s family. But I had a breakthrough earlier this week when I came across a post about Rodriguez’s death that had been published in January by a nonprofit based in Colorado called Voces Unidas. I hadn’t seen this post before, and it raised some concerning questions from Rodriguez’s family about the circumstances surrounding his death. 

On Tuesday, I got in touch with Alex Sanchez, the president and chief executive of Voces Unidas. He explained how his organization had helped Rodriguez hire a lawyer for his immigration case, and how it was now trying to help Rodriguez’s family learn more about his death. 

Sanchez agreed to ask Rodriguez’s family if they would be willing to speak to me. He told me that they had been fearing retaliation and would want to remain anonymous. 

He also told me that there were several reasons Rodriguez’s family felt like ICE wasn’t telling the full story. 

He said Rodriguez had agreed to self-deport the same month he was arrested, in September 2025. Rodriguez had been in touch with his mother back in Nicaragua, making plans for his return – even asking her to buy clothing for him.

Up until the day before Rodriguez was taken to the hospital, he had been talking regularly to his sisters by phone. His biggest frustration had been that he was being detained indefinitely,  months after he had voluntarily agreed to leave the country. Rodriguez did not show any signs that he was going to harm himself, Sanchez said. 

Rodriguez had described his unit as one of the big ones, a large room where more than 100 people shared living space. But after his death, Sanchez said, Rodriguez’s family was told that he had been found hanging in a cell. They did not receive an explanation for why he was in a cell. By this point, multiple detainees I’d interviewed had told me that the individual cells in the Adams facility are used either to discipline detainees who break the rules or to quarantine sick detainees. 

Sanchez also recounted that Rodriguez’s family found his death suspicious because of a video conversation they’d had with the nurses who were taking care of Rodriguez in his final days at Merit Health in Natchez before he was finally removed from the ventilator. According to the family, the nurses said Rodriguez’s injuries seemed inconsistent with what ICE was telling them – that Rodriguez had hung himself with a sheet, Sanchez said. The nurses also noted that Rodriguez had an injury on his forehead that didn’t look like it could have come from hanging, Sanchez said.

On Wednesday, Brian Todd, a CoreCivic spokesman, responded to my questions with a written statement. I had asked specifically about where Rodriguez had been housed and where he was found, and for details of his mental well-being and security footage of the incident, but Todd didn’t answer any of those questions. 

He expressed sadness on behalf of the company and said Adams detainees had “daily access” to medical care, including mental health services. He noted that Rodriguez had been discovered around 4:15 p.m., which was new information. 

Nobody I reached out to at ICE has responded to the questions I emailed them earlier this week. But I have also filed a public records request with ICE asking for the report it is required to prepare after it reviews an in-custody death, Rodriguez’s detention history and footage of the incident. I’ll let you know how ICE responds. 

The email and statement from Brian Todd of CoreCivic regarding the death of Delvin Francisco Radriguez:

We are deeply saddened by the passing of any individual in our care, and we take each instance very seriously. The safety, health and well-being of the people entrusted to us is our top priority. 

As you previously reported, on December 4, 2025, at approximately 4:15 p.m., Adams County Correctional Center (ACCC) staff responded to a medical emergency involving an unresponsive detainee inside their living area. Staff immediately began lifesaving measures. EMS was called, and paramedics transported the individual by ambulance to a local hospital. Our partners at ICE were notified immediately.

On December 14, ACCC leadership was informed by the hospital that the detainee had passed away. As with all incidents of this nature, it has been thoroughly reviewed in accordance with established protocols and in coordination with our government partners.

We adhere to all applicable federal detention standards in our ICE-contracted facilities, including ACCC. These facilities are monitored very closely by our government partners, and they are required to undergo regular review and audit processes to ensure an appropriate standard of living and care for all detainees.

Solitary Confinement
Solitary confinement, whether as a term or in practice, does not exist in CoreCivic facilities. Restrictive housing is in place for various reasons, including medical and mental health observation and administrative or investigative purposes. Individuals in restrictive housing maintain full access to courts, visitation, mail, showers, meals, all medical facilities and recreation. We always strive to ensure detainees are cared for in the least restrictive environment necessary to maintain their safety and security, as well as that of the institution.

Medical and Mental Health Care
CoreCivic is committed to providing access to high-quality medical and mental health care for all residents. At ACCC, the onsite medical clinic is staffed by licensed health care professionals including physicians, nurse practitioners, psychiatrists, psychologists, mental health counselors and dentists who contractually meet the highest standards of care, as verified by multiple audits and inspections. All detainees have daily access to sign up for medical care, including mental health services. CoreCivic also ensures access to offsite care for residents by coordinating with staff, government partners, community physicians, hospitals and ambulatory care providers. In 2024 alone, there were over 800,000 onsite medical and mental health care encounters in CoreCivic facilities. All CoreCivic staff are trained in CPR and first aid.

Brian Todd
Manager, Public Affairs

Mukta Joshi, an investigative reporter at Mississippi Today, is a New York Times Local Investigations fellow examining the ICE detention facility at Adams County Correctional Center. States Newsroom is partnering with Mississippi Today and The New York Times on this project. Mukta can be reached at mukta.joshi@nytimes.com. You can read the entire series here.

The Adams County Correctional Center, one of more than 200 ICE detention facilities in the U.S., is located near the city of Natchez on a sprawling 14-acre site in southwestern Mississippi.

The facility, which holds more than 2,000 people, is a significant economic driver in a county of fewer than 30,000 residents. CoreCivic employs approximately 400 people there, making it one of the largest employers in Adams County. Natchez Mayor Dan Gibson said CoreCivic is the county’s single largest taxpayer.

The federal government sets strict limits on who can visit Immigration and Custom Enforcement detention centers. And nearly all of them are run by for-profit companies, making the details of their operation private and difficult to monitor. 

So far, this is what we know.

Who owns it?

The Adams facility is privately owned and operated by CoreCivic Inc., a publicly traded company based in Tennessee. 

One of the largest private prison companies in the country, it disclosed in its most recent financial filings that it owns or controls about 57% of all privately owned prison beds in the U.S. 

The company, which reported $2.2 billion in revenue last year, has benefited financially from the Trump administration’s push to arrest immigrants. From 2024 to 2025, revenue increased by nearly $200 million thanks largely to an increase in ICE detentions, according to the company’s latest annual report.

Over the past few years, CoreCivic, its employees and PACs have poured millions of dollars into political donations and lobbying. In the 2024 election cycle, 84% of these donations went to Republican candidates. In the same cycle, CoreCivic spent more than $1.7 million lobbying, according to OpenSecrets. The previous year, it spent more than $1.6 million.

The Adams County facility is one of two ICE facilities operated by CoreCivic in the state. A second CoreCivic facility in Tutwiler, in northern Mississippi, was authorized last year to start housing ICE detainees.

What kinds of people are detained there? 

The Adams facility is a men’s facility. Most of its detainees are not from Mississippi. They were picked up by ICE agents somewhere else and are being held here until they decide to leave the country, or until an immigration judge deports them or sets them free.

Being in the U.S. without proper documentation is a civil infraction, like a speeding ticket – not a criminal violation. This fact has contributed to controversy about prison-like conditions that people detained by ICE are experiencing.

Only 9% of people in the Adams center have any sort of criminal conviction. But even those with criminal records are being held for civil immigration infractions, not as punishment. 

In addition to men, the facility currently houses a small number of transgender women. Following President Trump’s 2025 executive order, transgender people are required to be incarcerated in facilities that align with their gender assigned at birth, regardless of their legal status.

How long are detainees held?

In early 2025, then-warden Jason Streeval was quoted by the Natchez Democrat as saying that the average stay in the facility was about 60 days but had been getting longer. He told the newspaper that some detainees had been there for as long as seven months. 

Has the facility ever been the subject of controversy? 

The Adams facility made headlines in 2012, when an inmate protest against poor conditions snowballed into a riot that resulted in the killing of a guard. The FBI opened an investigation, leading to a number of inmates being charged and ultimately sentenced for participating in the riot. In the wake of the riot, U.S. Rep. Bennie Thompson called for an investigation into CoreCivic, then operating as Corrections Corporation of America.

One section of the facility, known as the “Zulu” unit, contains solitary confinement cells, where detainees are housed as punishment. In 2020, two nonprofit groups submitted a written complaint to ICE and the Department of Homeland Security alleging that immigrants from Cameroon had been tortured by ICE officers in that ward and forced to sign deportation documents. A year later, the complaint was still unresolved, according to the Center for Constitutional Rights. A representative for ICE did not respond to an inquiry about the current status of the complaint.

In 2021, an inspection by DHS found that Adams generally had provided sufficient medical care but identified one case in which the medical unit examined a sick detainee but did not send the person to the hospital. The detainee died. 

DHS also found that Adams didn’t meet other federal standards. Among the cited failures: It did not respond to grievances in a timely manner, it inadequately implemented COVID-19 safety protocols and it failed to assist vulnerable detainees. The ACLU called for the facility to be shut down.

What’s life like inside? 

The facility is divided into units, each holding about 140 people who share eight toilets and 15 showers, according to detainees interviewed by Mississippi Today. While inside, detainees can work if they choose, helping to clean, run the kitchen or do laundry. Several people held at the center said they were paid about $3.50 per day for their work.

Detainees are generally restricted to their own unit, where they can move about freely. One detainee said he was allowed to visit a secure outdoor area once every four or five days.

Several detainees described harsh conditions, but said that they had spent time in other facilities that were far dirtier and more restrictive. 

We don’t know much beyond that, especially about what the detention center looks like inside. A detainee who can afford the fees can send messages and make video calls from inside. They can’t send photos or attachments. And the communication app blurs their background and obscures the video completely if the camera is aimed away from the detainee’s face during a call.

How much does it cost to run? 

The contract to run this facility, like most other ICE detention centers, is an “Intragovernmental Service Agreement” between ICE, CoreCivic and Adams County. The 2019 agreement shows that ICE had agreed to pay a $3.9 million monthly flat rate for the facility, an amount set to increase every year. There have since been changes to this contract, but they were not immediately accessible. 

When we requested an interview with the warden and assistant warden, a spokesperson for CoreCivic redirected us to the company’s public affairs office and requested us to send our questions in writing. 

Over the next few months, we plan to publish weekly dispatches about the facility and about ICE detention in Mississippi and do our best to address these unanswered questions. You’ll be able to find my reporting on the Mississippi Today website, on our social media channels and in our Friday newsletter. And you can follow me on X @mukta_jo.

In the meantime, please fill out our survey. If you know something about the detention center, if you know someone who works there or is detained there, or want me to find out something about it for readers, please get in touch.

Clarification 3/27/26: This story has been updated to clarify the types of detainees held in the Adams County Correctional Center.

ICE raids have been taking place at an unprecedented scale in big cities all over, including in the South. Texas and Louisiana house more ICE detainees than any other state. 

Mississippi also plays a special part in immigration enforcement. 

Over the next few months, States Newsroom will partner with Mississippi Today and The New York Times to report on and publish stories about one of the largest ICE detention centers in the nation – the Adams County Correctional Center in Natchez, Miss.

Although Mississippi has one of the smallest immigrant populations, Adams Correctional Center is the second largest ICE detention facility in the country, housing more than 2,000 detainees. 

Little is known about the facility, which is located in a remote county of about 30,000 people in southwestern Mississippi.

The federal government limits access to ICE detention centers. They aren’t inspected as often as state prisons. Only immediate family members and attorneys are allowed to visit detainees. And because the Adams County facilityis owned and run by a private, for-profit company, CoreCivic, it isn’t covered by public records laws, and taxpayers don’t get to see what happens inside.

Reporting from Mississippi Today and The New York Times will inform you about the facility – from what it’s like inside, to how it impacts the local economy. 

If you know something about the detention center, if you know someone who works there or is detained there, or want us to find out something about it for readers, please contact Mukta Joshi, who is reporting on the facility for Mississippi Today and The New York Times.

Your name or any part of your submission will not be used without contacting you first. Contact Mukta through this form, or at mukta.joshi@nytimes.com, or anonymously through Signal @mmj.2178.