(FLORIDA, UNITED STATES) The Trump administration’s deportation of Cuban migrants to Mexico in 2025 has left hundreds of people without legal status, protection, or a clear path forward, according to attorneys and families who describe a system of abrupt expulsions and prolonged custody in detention centers. Lawyers say Cubans are being taken to the border and left to fend for themselves with no guarantees of safety, while others remain stuck for weeks Inside Florida facilities as deportation timelines slip and options disappear.
“They were put on a bus, taken across the border … and it was like ‘Hey, get out and get lost,’” said Allen, an immigration attorney representing Cuban clients.
Advocates describe people arriving in Mexican border cities with belongings in Ziploc bags and notices to appear in U.S. immigration court that offer no protection in Mexico. There is no legal status attached to those papers, and Cuban migrants who are expelled into Mexico report pooling what little money they have to find temporary shelter, unsure if they will be targeted by criminal groups or forced back into the United States without a hearing.
Inside Florida, the detention pipeline has hardened. Since July 2, 2025, hundreds of Cubans have been held at Alligator Alcatraz, a tent city detention camp in the Everglades described by detainees and lawyers as a “last stop” before deportation. Roughly 200 Cubans were detained at the Everglades facility at the end of July 2025, according to people tracking the transfers. Some were moved to the Krome detention center in Miami-Dade County for final processing; others say they were told nothing about when or where they would be sent next.
Among them is Pedro Lorenzo Concepción, who was held at the Alligator Alcatraz detention camp in Florida in July 2025, then transferred to Krome, still waiting for clarity on his fate. His partner, Daimarys Hernández, said he pleaded for answers from staff and got silence.
“He begged staff at the facility to offer some clarity on his fate, but received no response.”
Concepción, who has three U.S.-born children, stopped eating for a week in protest after repeated attempts to get answers failed. His case captures the uncertainty that has spread through families in Miami, Tampa, and Orlando, where relatives call detention hotlines, search for lawyers, and struggle to explain to children why a parent has vanished into custody.
Attorneys and relatives describe the detention centers as places where migrants are “held in limbo in harsh and unsanitary conditions, with little access to legal resources.” The tent encampment format at Alligator Alcatraz, they say, has amplified fears of sudden transfers and late-night bus rides to unknown destinations, echoing scenes from earlier eras of Cuban migration but, this time, without the promise of stable status at the end of the process.
The pace of deportation has quickened. In 2024, the Trump administration deported 463 Cubans. In 2025, officials are on track to remove around 560, according to figures cited by immigration advocates familiar with the caseload. The increase comes as more than 20,000 Cubans are expected to seek entry at the southern border in 2025, driven by severe economic crisis and political repression on the island. For those who reach the United States, the risk of deportation to Mexico has grown, even for people with pending claims or family ties.
Policy shifts this year have cut off pathways used under the previous administration. The Trump administration revoked the humanitarian parole program in March 2025, which had allowed over 110,000 Cubans to enter legally under Former President Biden. Those who came through that channel now face the prospect of arrest and deportation if they cannot renew their status or secure another form of protection. The cancellation has rippled through South Florida’s Cuban community, where families who had been living with work permits and school enrollments are now bracing for home raids and workplace arrests.
Ana Sofia Pelaez of the Miami Freedom Project said the change clashes with the rhetoric that has long framed Cubans as political refugees worthy of protection.
“It’s heartbreaking. There’s a dissonance between how Americans, especially some lawmakers, talk about Cubans fleeing the island and how they are now being treated in the United States,” she said.
Her group has fielded calls from families whose relatives were taken from routine ICE check-ins and moved straight into custody, with little chance to challenge expulsion or secure counsel before being told they would be sent to Mexico.
Advocates say the deportation to Mexico often unravels within hours of arrival. U.S. officials have returned Cubans’ belongings in Ziploc bags and issued them notices to appear in court, leaving them to pool resources for basic shelter in border towns like El Paso. Once dropped at the crossing, people have no Mexican documents, no access to formal shelter systems, and no protection from kidnapping or extortion. For families separated in the process, the scramble to locate a parent or adult child on the other side can stretch for days, fueled by desperate WhatsApp messages and occasional calls from borrowed phones.
Allen warns that Cubans pushed into Mexico “could become stateless, get stuck in immigration limbo and lose most of their rights and protections for the rest of their lives. ‘I don’t think this (U.S.) government has any worries about that,’ Allen said.” That risk is compounded by another barrier: Cuba often refuses to accept deportees, particularly those with criminal records, leaving some people in a loop of custody transfers that can last months or longer. In several cases described by lawyers, those who could not be returned to Cuba were eventually sent to third countries such as South Sudan, places where they have no family, language ties, or support networks.
The result is a widening group of Cubans in detention centers who cannot go home and cannot be legally admitted to the United States, creating pressure on facilities already strained by summer surges. At Alligator Alcatraz, detainees call the site a holding pen without a clear endpoint. The “last stop” label reflects what people say officers tell them: if Cuba will not take you and Mexico will not keep you, the answer may be indefinite custody while officials search for another country that will. For those inside, legal strategy becomes guesswork—should they press an asylum claim to halt expulsion, or wait in hopes of a policy shift?
Families outside face their own maze. Hernández said Concepción’s hunger strike terrified their children, who asked if their father was being punished. She said their youngest clutched a small toy to sleep after his last video call from Krome. In Miami neighborhoods where Cuban flags hang from balconies, relatives of detainees trade lawyer referrals and carpool to weekend visitation slots. Some discuss whether to gather outside detention gates; others worry that any public attention could make their loved one a target for faster deportation to Mexico.
The numbers offer a stark snapshot of the broader trend. Hundreds of Cubans have cycled through Alligator Alcatraz since early July, with roughly 200 held there by the end of the month. In parallel, Krome has seen steady transfers for those tagged for removal. While deportations in 2025 are projected to surpass last year’s total, the case flow is uneven, attorneys say, with some people pushed out to Mexico within days and others stalled for weeks while paperwork is sorted and travel coordination fails.
Across the border, Cuban migrants describe the moment of arrival as disorienting. One day they are in a Florida tent city; the next they are on the sidewalk in a Mexican city without documents, a phone, or money. Volunteers report that some Cubans walk back toward ports of entry to beg U.S. officers for information about court dates attached to their notices. Others disappear into informal shelters to avoid predatory groups. Without status, there is no path to work, and without shelter, they are exposed to the same dangers that have haunted other expelled groups.
Inside the camps, the fear is that once a person is flagged for deportation to Mexico, there is little chance to reverse the process. Attorneys say access to legal materials is limited, and phone time can be inconsistent. The description of migrants being “held in limbo in harsh and unsanitary conditions, with little access to legal resources” has been echoed in affidavits and calls from families who describe tents that flood during summer storms and bathrooms that go uncleaned for long stretches. People with chronic health conditions, including diabetes and hypertension, rely on occasional nurse visits and borrowed medication from other detainees.
This latest wave follows a familiar arc for Cuban migration but with fewer protections. Years ago, the “wet foot, dry foot” policy and subsequent parole options created predictable routes to residence for those who reached U.S. soil. Those routes are now closed. The termination of humanitarian parole in March 2025 removed a safety valve that had stabilized many families who arrived during 2023 and 2024. The program had allowed over 110,000 Cubans to enter legally under Former President Biden, a cushion that dried up as arrests and detentions surged this year. For those already here under parole, the uncertainty has driven people to seek emergency legal help to avoid being swept into the same detention-to-expulsion pipeline.
Rights groups in Florida argue that the rapid deportation to Mexico undoes decades of special consideration for Cubans fleeing state repression. Pelaez said the gulf between public statements and current practice is jarring, especially for older Cuban Americans who remember the reception given to earlier exiles.
“It’s heartbreaking. There’s a dissonance between how Americans, especially some lawmakers, talk about Cubans fleeing the island and how they are now being treated in the United States,” she said again when asked about families with U.S.-born children now facing removal or separation.
Officials have not given clear public guidance on how long Cubans might remain in detention if neither Cuba nor Mexico will take them. In past years, prolonged detention sometimes ended when people secured supervised release while their cases wound through court. This year, lawyers say, the emphasis appears to be on removal first, review later. For those sent to Mexico, the deportation notice does not protect them from local enforcement or criminal activity, leaving them reliant on ad hoc support and informal networks.
The human cost is visible in quiet details. Relatives say officers returned wallets and phones in plastic bags with property receipt slips. In calls from Mexico, expelled Cubans describe wearing the same clothes for days while searching for a safe place to sleep. Some call from borrowed phones at bus stations that they do not recognize. Others send brief WhatsApp messages before going offline for days. In Florida, families refresh case trackers and wait for a hearing date that might not matter if their loved one has already been dropped in another country.
Allen’s warning about long-term limbo resonates across the cases now moving through detention centers.
“They were put on a bus, taken across the border … and it was like ‘Hey, get out and get lost,’” he said, describing a process that leaves people with almost no choices.
His broader concern is that those who cannot be returned to Cuba and who have no status in Mexico may drift into permanent displacement. “could become stateless, get stuck in immigration limbo and lose most of their rights and protections for the rest of their lives. ‘I don’t think this (U.S.) government has any worries about that,’ Allen said.”
Advocates are urging anyone with pending cases to seek legal advice quickly and to document health needs and family ties, in hopes that those factors might slow removal or support a claim for release. Official information on parole programs and their current status is available through the DHS parole processes page. But for Cubans already caught in this year’s enforcement wave, the core challenge is immediate and practical: avoiding deportation to Mexico, surviving as expulsions accelerate, and finding a way back into a legal process that can protect against indefinite detention.
For Concepción and others like him, the next days will likely be decisive. Hernández said she is trying to keep their three children focused on school while checking her phone every hour for news. She fears that the next call will be from a number she does not know, with a voice telling her that he has been dropped at a border crossing. At Alligator Alcatraz and Krome, word spreads quickly when buses load up before dawn. In neighborhoods across South Florida, doors stay unlocked a little later, and lights stay on, as families sit with their phones and wait for news that will tell them whether their loved one is still in a detention center or already gone.
Official information on broader immigration policy and Department of Homeland Security actions is available from the Department of Homeland Security.
This Article in a Nutshell
From early July 2025, hundreds of Cubans have been placed in tent camps such as Alligator Alcatraz and funneled through detention centers like Krome. The Trump administration revoked humanitarian parole in March 2025, ending a legal pathway used by over 110,000 Cubans and contributing to a rise in deportations—projected near 560 in 2025. Many expelled to Mexico receive only notices to appear without Mexican papers, leaving them vulnerable to violence, exploitation and potential statelessness. Advocates urge swift legal support and documentation of family and health ties.
