The young Latino man stood quiet as the tall, husky border patrol agent handcuffed him. A handful of strangers approached the men slowly and began questioning the officer.
“Hey, can I see your badge number? Why is he being arrested?” said one woman.
The officer told the gathering of women he didn’t have to provide them that information and warned them to get back. He escorted Helmuth Beteta to his vehicle, the young man’s bike still lying on the ground. The women were part of a group videotaping similar events across Key West, with an organization concerned about the recent arrests of immigrants there.
More than a month later, Beteta struggles to make sense of that July day.
“Why is this happening? Is this real? You know, like you have an experience that doesn't even feel real to you, and like your mind just shuts down,” said Beteta.
It’s a day that has left him fearful.
“I knew what was happening was wrong,” said Beteta, who was riding his bike home when he was stopped by border patrol agents. “There's really nothing that I was doing on the bicycle that was illegal or a reason to give to stop me.”
Beteta, who is from Nicaragua and has spent the past seven years in the Keys with his mom, calls his stop by the officer racial profiling.
“He never searched me. He never did anything. All he was interested about is — what's your legal status?” said Beteta.
He says the officer insisted he had entered the U.S. illegally through the border. Beteta says he repeatedly told the officer he entered the country legally at an airport with a visa.
“Even after I say that, he kept saying, I came to this country illegally, and I was a criminal, and that (I) had committed a crime.”
In fact, Beteta has no criminal history. He says he presented officers a valid Florida driver’s license that day. He also has a federal work permit, which has allowed him to work as a maintenance engineer at a Keys hotel. Beteta’s mother brought him to the U.S. when he was 16 — both say they fled political persecution in their homeland. The day he was detained, Beteta says he explained to border patrol that he had an immigration court date for his political asylum petition in 2028.
In an email to WGCU, Homeland Security said Beteta overstayed his tourist visa issued to him in 2018. His attorney, Amanda Velazquez, says U.S. law allowed Beteta to apply for political asylum within a year of arriving to the U.S., which he did.
Beteta spent two days detained by officers at Marathon, and then found himself riding a bus at night with other detainees on their way to Alligator Alcatraz.
“It's like you lose all hope, and you feel like everything is doomed. You're like in the lowest that you can ever feel,” said Beteta.
“And as soon as you get off the bus, all these guards rush out the door and start grabbing one by one,” said Beteta, who says detainees were then immediately forced to strip down to their underwear.
Beteta described difficult conditions during processing.
“You have chains on your feet and on your hands the entire night, for like a whole day,” said Beteta.
He says guards wore hoodies, jackets and gloves to cope with the cold temperatures there.
“It feels like you're in a freezer,” said Beteta.
Wearing detainee uniforms, Beteta and other detainees worried about the frigid conditions for an older, thinner man.
“He was shaking for like a good six to 10 hours," said Beteta. “Literally, we all thought he was going to die in there.”
Beteta says detainees asked guards to give him a blanket. Instead they just moved the man away from air coming out of a vent. Beteta says detainees had to deal with harsh conditions regularly, such as extreme temperatures that varied depending on what tent detainees were housed in.
“First four nights, you're just dealing with mosquitoes all over the place. I remember, for me, I had to cover myself all with blankets. I would have rather like sweat myself to sleep than have to deal with mosquitoes because you never know what type of illnesses they're going to carry with you.”
An email to WGCU from Stephanie Hartman, a spokesperson for the Florida Division of Emergency Management, disputes Beteta’s description of conditions. The statement read,
“These allegations are false. Detainees have access to 24/7 medical care that includes a pharmacy, as well as clean, working facilities for hygiene and can schedule both in-person and virtual appointments with attorneys. No guards are mistreating detainees. Officers are highly trained and follow all federal and state detention protocols.”
But Beteta says reports about sanitation issues, such as flooding toilets, at times are accurate.
“It takes, like, an hour, two hours for somebody to even try to fix that,” said Beteta. “You just deal with, one toilet clog and with water everywhere, trying to dry it off with like sheets.”
He says it was a challenge to get the basics, like medicine for his injured foot. He said initially there wasn’t enough food. He estimates he lost about 17 pounds in his three-and-a-half weeks there. He says sometimes even getting water was a problem. Some guards would get irritated about filling large water jugs for detainees.
“I remember I asked the guard, and he looked at me, and he just ignored me when I asked him for water, and I spoke to him in English,” said Beteta. “There was no communication issue right there. He straight up ignored me.”
Beteta says there wasn’t physical abuse at the facility but considers the treatment inhumane.
“The psychological pressure they put on you is real. It is a real thing,” said Beteta, who said more than 30 men would share a cage.
He said guards would get mad if you asked them for things like blankets.
“You feel you're being treated like an animal, like a dog, like a cat, or like a chicken, in this case, because it was cages,” said Beteta.
“They put you on all these stressful situations to raise your stress, make you anxious,” said Beteta. “You will give your hand just to get out.”
He said several detainees agreed to leave the country voluntarily because they lost hope that they’d be released and that others signed documents without understanding what they were signing. He says Alligator Alcatraz, unlike a detention facility in Texas where he spent a few days, had no information on potential legal resources for detainees.
“In Alcatraz, there's no pamphlets. There's nothing you can read that tells you what to do or where to look for help.”
He said detainees are often told by guards they’re not getting out.
“They already telling you, hey, you're going back to your country. You ask them anything, all they say is that you're going back to your country,” said Beteta.
He said confidential access to attorneys was tough for weeks.
“I had two court hearings, and for none of them I was ever there,” said Beteta.
But Beteta knows he’s lucky. His attorney, who says he should not have even been detained, helped him secure bond. He says his experience has deepened his appreciation for his loved ones and the support of the Latino community.
“I can say I met one of the greatest people I have met in my life inside the cell. I met a pastor, which he was the one who guided me to God,” said Beteta. “I met a lot of fathers. I met a lot of people that, like, are just trying to provide for their families.”
Beteta still worries he could be detained again so he moved to a new county in South Florida with his girlfriend, Emma. His plans of going to college this fall are on hold.
“I don't even want to leave the house, you know? I don't want to be seen right now,” said Beteta.
And he admits he now struggles with where he belongs.
"Nothing feels like home right now. Not in my country, not even here right now. It just feels like [I] don't belong anywhere,” said Beteta. “This was like a reminder, trying to tell me, Hey, you don't belong here, even after everything you've been through, after everything that you have done, you don't belong here. I don't care if you speak the language. I don't care if you write it. I don't care if you read it. I don't care like you've been to school, college, or who you know. You don't look like you belong here.”
