Phelps County Jail Reverses Course, Resumes ICE Detainees

(ROLLA, MISSOURI) The Phelps County Jail has resumed accepting new ICE detainees after a two-month pause that began on September 1, 2025, reversing a decision that had raised questions about costs and oversight in one of rural Missouri’s largest local detention facilities. Over the past week, the jail in Rolla, Missouri, has brought in more than 20 new inmates on ICE holds, according to county figures shared in recent days, signaling that the facility is again set to play a notable role in federal immigration custody in the region.

The move follows weeks of uncertainty over reimbursement rates and workload. County officials had previously said the federal per-diem of $85 per detainee per night from U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement does not cover the jail’s actual costs, citing time-consuming transport and paperwork specific to immigration custody. Yet the intake restarted in late October, and as of October 28, 2025, the jail reported 30 people held on ICE holds—about 10% of its current inmate population—after a year in which more than 350 people in ICE custody have spent time in the facility.

Sheriff Mike Kirn made the decision to pause intake and then to restart it, but he has not publicly explained the reversal despite multiple requests for comment. The county’s presiding commissioner, Joey Auxier, said the sheriff has the authority to set jail policy and that the commission backs his approach.

“It’s Sheriff Mike Kirn’s decision, and we support it. He runs the jail, and he does a good job. It’s his call,” said Auxier.

He also tied the detention agreement to the county’s recent spending on the facility. “I thought [housing ICE detainees] was an opportunity for us to recoup some of that money that we spent to do the jail expansion.”

The financial context looms large in Phelps County, where the jail underwent a $21 million expansion that roughly doubled its size to 400 beds. Budget papers this year show the county struggled to pay January and February invoices “due to lack of funds,” according to meeting minutes. Officials had earlier framed the ICE arrangement—administered under an existing contract with the U.S. Marshals Service that was expanded to include immigration holds—as a revenue stabilizer. Sheriff Kirn previously estimated the agreement could add about $3.6 million in a year to a sheriff’s office that typically operates on around $5.5 million.

The return of ICE detainees has also renewed the work of local volunteer groups that support people held at the jail. Abide in Love, a volunteer network begun this spring in Rolla, says its members are again tracking arrivals and providing small but immediate help to those in custody.

“We trained some new pen pal volunteers over the weekend. We check on their well-being and their needs, and then we give them jail phone money so that they can contact their families and lawyers,” said the group’s secretary, Lucy Behrendt.

“We believe that [Sheriff Kirn is] a kind man, and we’re keeping the faith that he cares about the well-being of detained people, so we’re really hopeful that he’s going to continue to be welcoming of our efforts.”

Advocates describe a steady stream of arrivals and transfers that require swift coordination to reach people before they are moved again.

“They arrive with no possessions and limited ability to contact their loved ones,” according to reporting that tracked detainee intake at the Phelps County Jail and other Missouri facilities where federal immigration holds are used.

In practical terms, volunteers say that often means stepping in with hygiene products, clothes, snacks, and small amounts of money for phone accounts so detainees can notify family members or contact attorneys, especially in the first 48 hours.

Abide in Love has grown beyond Rolla as immigration enforcement expanded under President Trump’s national operations that began in March. The group now has chapters in Ste. Genevieve and Springfield, two other Missouri communities where ICE detainees are held, and it is in discussions with six additional communities about starting similar efforts. Its president, Amy Beechner-McCarthy, said the scale of detentions pushed local residents to find ways to offer tangible help.

“I have just been overwhelmed by everything that’s been going on with the deportations. And I thought I had to do something — to create a beloved community. My goal is that we could be welcoming all immigrants into our community, but we had to start with the people that were in the jail here,” she said.

The intake patterns at Phelps County—where some ICE detainees pass through for only one day before transfer or removal while others remain for months—require volunteers to monitor booking sheets and to confirm immigration holds case by case. Susie Johnson, a board member with Abide in Love-Ste. Genevieve, said volunteers must work quickly and methodically because ICE holds are not always apparent when people are booked. “We have to do a lot of work to identify who was in our jail as an ICE detainee, and sometimes that takes a couple days,” she said.

The jail’s re-engagement with immigration detention comes against the backdrop of a death in custody earlier this year that sharpened concerns about medical oversight. In April 2025, a detainee was found unresponsive in a Phelps County cell; his mother said it appeared to be a suicide, and records indicated ICE had not followed its own medical protocols beforehand. Sheriff Kirn declined to comment on the death at the time, citing an ongoing investigation, and said no policies or procedures had been changed since the incident. The sheriff has not addressed whether the resumption of ICE intake prompted any new training or review measures for medical or mental health care.

Officials and volunteers alike say the economics of detention are complicated by the reality of jail operations on the ground. The $85 nightly reimbursement is a fixed rate, but transport costs, staff time for federal paperwork, and the churn of frequent transfers can tip the balance, according to county officials who reviewed the agreement earlier this fall. At the same time, the expanded 400-bed capacity gives Phelps County Jail flexibility to accept federal holds when space opens up, and the sheriff’s estimate of $3.6 million in potential annual revenue underscores the budget stakes in a county that questioned its cash flow at the start of the year.

For people in custody, the immediate issues are more basic: clean clothes, soap, and a working phone account. Abide in Love says its roughly 50 local volunteers in and around Rolla have set up a system to deliver small items through commissary and to channel phone funds so detainees can make calls. The group’s members also serve as pen pals for people who may not have relatives nearby, with the goal of maintaining communication while cases wind through immigration and criminal court processes. Volunteers say they try to track transfers quickly because some detainees are moved between jails in a matter of days, or deported shortly after intake if removal orders are already in place.

The county’s political leanings add another layer to the story. More than 70% of Phelps County voters supported Donald Trump in the last presidential election, and many residents back aggressive immigration enforcement. Yet the same community has generated a core of activists who oppose federal deportation policies while working within the local jail system to soften their impact. That tension—between a county that supports tough enforcement and a volunteer network focused on detainee welfare—has defined much of the public debate over what role the Phelps County Jail should play.

Sheriff Kirn has emphasized operational control over the jail, and county leaders have deferred to his judgment. Auxier, the presiding commissioner, agreed that financial considerations matter even as he framed the detention agreement as a tool to manage the costs of a larger facility.

“I thought [housing ICE detainees] was an opportunity for us to recoup some of that money that we spent to do the jail expansion,” he said, pointing to the $21 million project that doubled capacity.

With 30 people currently on ICE holds and more than 350 held at some point this year, the footprint of immigration detention in Phelps County is now large enough to influence staffing, transport schedules, and medical and mental health needs across the jail.

The logistics of intake reflect the mixture of federal and local authority. The jail’s arrangement for ICE detainees operates through the county’s contract with the U.S. Marshals Service; immigration holds are then layered in as part of federal enforcement actions. Under the current approach, U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement oversees custody and transport while relying on local jails like Phelps County to house detainees for days or months. Officials and advocates both point to the intensity of the paperwork and transfer process as a major operational burden. ICE’s policies and standards are published online, including U.S. immigration detention standards and custodial procedures, and the agency’s stated oversight framework can be reviewed at U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement.

In Rolla, Missouri, the human rhythm of detention continues despite the policy shifts. On some days, volunteers say they learn of new arrivals from a phone call from inside the jail or from a family member searching for someone who was picked up hundreds of miles away. On others, they find out only after a detainee has already been transferred out. That uncertainty is why Abide in Love says it has invested in training new volunteers.

“We trained some new pen pal volunteers over the weekend. We check on their well-being and their needs, and then we give them jail phone money so that they can contact their families and lawyers,” said Behrendt.

The group also keeps small stockpiles of clothes and hygiene items for when people are released without resources or sent on to another jail with nothing but the clothes they arrived in.

The restart of ICE intake at the Phelps County Jail does not resolve the questions that drove the pause in September. County officials still say the $85 rate does not fully cover costs, and Sheriff Kirn has not publicly discussed whether he received any assurances or adjustments from federal partners. Volunteer groups remain concerned about medical and mental health care, especially after the April death and the records that indicated ICE protocols were not followed. And the pace of intakes—more than 20 in a week—suggests the jail will remain a hub for immigration enforcement in central Missouri even as debates over cost and care continue.

For now, the sheriff’s decision stands, and the consequences are immediate for those in custody and those waiting for them.

“They arrive with no possessions and limited ability to contact their loved ones,” according to reporting that detailed the first hours many people spend in custody.

Volunteers say that is where local efforts can make the fastest difference, whether with a $20 phone deposit or a quick call to a public defender.

“We believe that [Sheriff Kirn is] a kind man, and we’re keeping the faith that he cares about the well-being of detained people, so we’re really hopeful that he’s going to continue to be welcoming of our efforts,” Behrendt said.

Whether the county’s finances ultimately benefit from renewed intake, and whether oversight improves to meet the concerns raised this spring, will likely be measured in spreadsheets and audit reports months from now. In the meantime, the numbers are stark: a 400-bed jail, 30 ICE detainees today, more than 350 who have cycled through in 2025, and a reimbursement rate that officials say falls short. The decisions shaping those numbers are being made in Rolla, Missouri, but their effects reach much farther, touching families across states and, in some cases, across borders.

As the Phelps County Jail returns to federal immigration detention at scale, local leaders call it a practical step and volunteers describe a human need that keeps growing.

“It’s Sheriff Mike Kirn’s decision, and we support it. He runs the jail, and he does a good job. It’s his call,” Auxier said.

And for those working on the other side of the glass, the mission remains grounded in small acts with outsized urgency.

“I have just been overwhelmed by everything that’s been going on with the deportations. And I thought I had to do something — to create a beloved community. My goal is that we could be welcoming all immigrants into our community, but we had to start with the people that were in the jail here,” Beechner-McCarthy said.