Driving through the brush country of Frio County, you might miss the turn for Dilley if you aren't looking for it. It’s a quiet town, the kind of place where the wind kicks up red dust and the horizon feels endless. But just off Highway 85 sits a sprawling 50-acre complex that has sparked more headlines and legal battles than almost any other square mile in Texas. This is the South Texas Family Residential Center, and honestly, calling it a "correctional facility" depends entirely on who you ask and which year it is.
Basically, the place is a massive campus designed to hold people who have crossed the border. It’s not a prison in the traditional sense of barbed wire and stone walls, but it’s a secure, locked facility nonetheless. For over a decade, it has served as a lightning rod for the American immigration debate, opening, closing, and reopening as political winds shift in Washington.
The Reopening of Dilley in 2025
If you were following the news in mid-2024, you probably heard the facility was shutting down. The Biden administration pulled the plug, citing the astronomical costs of keeping the lights on. It was, at the time, the most expensive facility in the national detention network. But fast forward to March 2025, and the gates swung open again.
The Trump administration moved quickly to bring the facility back online. They struck a massive five-year deal with the city of Dilley and CoreCivic, the private prison giant that manages the site. Now, it’s back to its original mission: detaining families. We're talking mothers and children, often from Central America, waiting for their day in immigration court.
It's a big operation. The facility can hold up to 2,400 people. When it’s running at full tilt, it’s basically a small city. CoreCivic expects to net something like $180 million in annual revenue from this contract. That's a lot of taxpayer money flowing into a town of fewer than 4,000 residents.
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What It’s Actually Like Inside
Walking through the facility doesn't feel like a jail cell block. There are no bars. Instead, you have 80 small, tan cottages. Each one has two bedrooms and a bathroom. They’re meant to house up to eight people, usually multiple families squeezed into bunk beds. There are flat-screen TVs and baby cribs.
Sounds okay on paper, right? Well, it’s more complicated than that.
While there are kitchens in the units, nobody is allowed to cook. Fire hazard, they say. Residents have to eat in a massive communal cafeteria. There’s a library, a gym, and even a "game room." CoreCivic likes to point out the turf soccer fields and the playgrounds. They’ve even given the neighborhoods "kid-friendly" names like Yellow Frog and Red Parrot.
But the reality of living there is heavy. You’re counted three times a day. Guards perform bed checks at night. A high fence and security cameras keep everyone inside. For the kids, it’s a weird, sterile world of dirt roads and metal trailers. In a lawsuit filed in late 2025, some parents described it as a "metal container" that gets so hot the children get dizzy and cry. One mother claimed her son had to wait two hours for medical attention for a broken arm because the staff didn't think he was "crying enough."
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Why This Place Is So Controversial
The South Texas Family Residential Center has been called everything from a "residential center" to an "internment camp." That’s not just hyperbole from activists; even historians have weighed in. Some survivors of the Japanese-American internment during World War II have visited Dilley and said the atmosphere felt eerily similar—a "happy sheen" covering up the trauma of indefinite detention.
One of the biggest issues is medical care. There are roughly 120 health professionals on staff, but critics say that’s not enough for 2,400 people, especially when so many are young children. Over the years, doctors have documented something they call "Dilley-ish" health issues—kids leaving the facility with respiratory infections, weight loss, and severe anxiety.
Then there’s the legal side. Access to lawyers is technically available, but it’s a hurdle. Most of these families are fleeing violence and seeking asylum. Trying to build a legal case while living in a "Yellow Frog" trailer with seven other people isn't exactly easy.
The Money and the Town
You can't talk about Dilley without talking about the money. For the town itself, this facility is a lifeline. When it closed in 2024, the local economy took a hit. When it reopened in 2025, jobs came back. Roughly two-thirds of the old staff returned to their posts.
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CoreCivic is a business, and Dilley is a major asset. The company has managed the site since it was built in 2014 under the Obama administration. Despite the controversies, the federal government keeps coming back to them because they have the "beds." They provide the "flexibility" the government needs when border crossings spike.
Actionable Insights for Families and Advocates
If you are looking for information regarding someone currently held at the South Texas Family Residential Center, here is the ground-level reality of how things work:
- Communication: Residents can receive mail, but it’s strictly screened. You can send money through CoreCivic’s approved vendors, but don't expect a quick process.
- Legal Visits: Attorneys can schedule "Virtual Attorney Visits" (VAV). These usually need to be booked 24 hours in advance and happen between 7 a.m. and 7 p.m.
- Visitation: Family visits are allowed, but they’re subject to the Facility Administrator's whims. If the room is too full, they’ll cut your time short.
- Medical Concerns: If a loved one is sick, documentation is key. Advocacy groups like the Detention Watch Network or RAICES are often the best bet for getting external eyes on a medical issue.
The facility at Dilley isn't going anywhere anytime soon. With a contract that runs through the end of the decade, it remains the center of the American immigration storm. It’s a place of playgrounds and prison guards, expensive contracts and desperate families—all tucked away in the Texas brush.
If you need to contact the facility directly for resident information, the main line is typically (830) 378-6500. Always have the individual's "A-Number" (Alien Registration Number) ready, or you won't get far with the operators. Be prepared for long wait times and a lot of bureaucracy.