This Isn’t Reform. It’s Bondage Rebranded.

This Isn’t Reform. It’s Bondage Rebranded.

What GDP Won’t Tell You About Prisons, Profits, and the $45 Billion ICE Expansion

An abstract digital illustration showing interconnected systems of prison bars, dollar signs, and medical equipment, symbolizing how incarceration, arms sales, and healthcare profits contribute to U.S. GDP.

April 09, 2025

Opinion: $45 Billion for Detention Isn’t Immigration Reform. It’s a Gift to the Prison Industrial Complex.

Back in 2006, when I enrolled in Seattle University’s Leadership-Executive MBA program, I thought economics would be one of the most boring classes.

GDP? Resource allocation?

Snoozefest.

But thanks to a few excellent professors and eye-opening classroom discussions, I started sitting up in my chair.

What Is GDP, Anyway?

GDP stands for Gross Domestic Product, and it’s basically how the U.S. keeps score of its economy. Imagine adding up the value of everything we buy, sell, build, and spend money on in a year—cars, surgeries, weapons, rent, chicken nuggets, prison construction.

That big number? That’s GDP.

If the number goes up, politicians say the economy is “healthy.”

But here’s the problem: GDP doesn’t care what we’re building or why.

A cancer diagnosis? Boosts GDP.

A hurricane? Boosts GDP.

A new prison? Yep, that too.

It’s a system that counts activity—but not impact.
It measures motion—not meaning.

Once I realized that GDP is the primary way we measure success in our economy, I started looking at the nuts and bolts of what we’re calling “success.” 

And I realized … so many things that actually reveal how horribly we’re doing as a country are celebrated—simply because they boost our GDP.

That includes profits from prisons, arms deals, and medical treatment —hospital stays, pharmaceuticals, surgeries. 

In this system, health and happiness aren’t profitable.

You might already be familiar with the data I’m about to share.

But like me back then, maybe you’ve never looked at it through the lens of GDP.

Once I saw how GDP rewarded harm, I couldn’t unsee it. I started looking at our biggest “success stories” differently—especially the industries profiting most from pain.

So let’s look at a few of the major GDP-boosting industries in the U.S.—and what they actually cost us when we look at it through the lens of ALL the ways we should be looking at and measuring the well-being of our country.

Arms Sales: War as Growth

The U.S. is the largest arms exporter in the world, accounting for 43% of global weapons exports from 2020–2024.

(Source: Geopolitical Economy Report, March 2025)

In fiscal year 2024 alone, U.S. arms transfers and defense trade totaled $117.9 billion, with $96.9 billion of that coming from foreign military sales to U.S. allies and partners.

(Source: U.S. State Department)

These transactions are counted as “economic activity” and contribute to GDP —but they also deepen global militarization, fuel conflicts, and entrench geopolitical instability.

The economy grows, but at the expense of peace.

Healthcare: Sickness as a Business Model

In 2023, the U.S. spent $4.9 trillion on healthcare, representing 17.6% of national GDP.

(Source: Centers for Medicare & Medicaid Services)

And yet, the U.S. continues to rank poorly in life expectancy, chronic disease rates, and maternal mortality compared to other wealthy nations.

Why? Because the system rewards treatment, not prevention. The more people get sick, the more the economy “grows.” Pharmaceutical sales, hospital stays, and surgeries all count toward GDP.

But healthy communities? Preventive care? Supportive environments? Those don’t move the economic needle.

The True Cost of the U.S. Prison Industrial Complex

Direct Government Spending on Corrections:

The U.S. spends $182 billion per year on the criminal legal system, including:

  • Prisons and jails: $80.7B
  • Police: $63.2B
  • Judicial/legal costs: $29B
  • Supervision (probation/parole): $8.1B

(Source: Prison Policy Initiative, 2017)

The Broader Economic Burden:

When you factor in lost wages, reduced economic mobility, family costs, and ripple effects, the total societal cost balloons to over $1 trillion per year—nearly 6% of U.S. GDP.

(Source: Institute for Justice Research and Development (IJRD), 2016)

This includes:

  • Lost earnings from incarceration and criminal records
  • Decreased lifetime earnings for children of incarcerated parents
  • Health impacts and increased public health costs
  • Reduced tax revenue
  • Increased reliance on public assistance

Who Profits?

Private prison corporations like GEO Group and CoreCivic make billions.

GEO Group made $2.3 billion in 2022. CoreCivic brought in $1.8 billion.

About 43% of GEO’s revenue in some years comes directly from ICE detention contracts.

(Source: GEO Group 10-K filings via SEC, Brennan Center)

Incarceration by the Numbers:

The U.S. has 2 million people locked up at any given time —the highest incarceration rate in the world.

Over 5 million more are under community supervision (probation/parole).

Black Americans are incarcerated at nearly 5 times the rate of white Americans.

(Source: The Sentencing Project)

The prison industrial complex isn’t just morally bankrupt—it’s economically absurd.

It drains public funds, harms families, depresses entire communities, and then gets celebrated as “growth” because it generates jobs and government contracts.

But this isn’t safety. It’s a cycle of punishment sold as policy.

How “Immigration Enforcement” Became Incarceration Infrastructure

So when I read that last week the Trump administration released a request for up to $45 billion in contracts to expand immigrant detention facilities, I was outraged.

On the surface, it’s framed as a crackdown on undocumented immigration.

But let’s be honest: this isn’t just about enforcement.

It’s about padding the pockets of private prison companies and deepening the roots of the prison industrial complex—with immigrant bodies as the fuel.

And let’s get another thing straight: detention is not deportation.

You don’t need $45 billion to remove people from the country.

You need functioning legal systems, international agreements, and due process. What this level of spending builds instead is a vast network of holding cells, transportation systems, security guards, surveillance tech, and medical contractors.

This is not immigration reform—it’s incarceration infrastructure.

Remember Orange Is the New Black? 

Did you watch Orange Is the New Black?

That Netflix show wasn’t just entertainment—it was a dramatized window into the U.S. prison industrial complex. It showed us how people—especially women of color—get caught in cycles of punishment, bureaucracy, and exploitation, all while corporations turn incarceration into a business model.

Was anyone else outraged when the character Blanca Flores was taken by ICE at the end of Season 6? After serving her sentence at Litchfield, she expected to be released. Instead, she was snatched and sent to a privately run ICE detention facility.

The show didn’t exaggerate.

It reflected a real system, where immigrants who’ve served their time are funneled directly into private detention centers—because someone profits when they do.

In real life, GEO Group and CoreCivic are already profiting heavily from ICE contracts. These companies spend millions lobbying for policies that keep detention numbers high.

And while children are separated from families, asylum seekers are caged, and court backlogs grow, shareholders cash in.

But here’s the deeper sickness: we count this cruelty as economic growth.

The United States measures its success through Gross Domestic Product (GDP)—a number that doesn’t distinguish between life-affirming and life-destroying activity. When a private prison builds a new facility, hires guards, and contracts out meals and security, that gets counted as a boost to GDP.

In fact, a comprehensive study by the Institute for Justice Research and Development estimated the total societal cost of incarceration at over $1 trillion annually—nearly 6% of U.S. GDP. That’s a number that far exceeds what we actually spend on corrections.

This is the trap of “late capitalism,” a term used to describe the strange, often heartbreaking version of capitalism we’re living in now—where profit is prioritized over people, and systems are so distorted that things like illness, incarceration, and climate disasters are seen as “good for the economy.”

It’s not just about money. It’s about what we value, what we measure, and who we leave behind.

In late capitalism, forest fires boost GDP. So do oil spills, cancer diagnoses, and prison construction.

But caregiving? Mutual aid? Healing work?

Not counted. Not profitable.

This is the trap: we’ve built an economic system that confuses destruction with success.

And the more we cling to it, the more harm we normalize.

The ICE proposal isn’t just a policy decision.

It’s a long-term investment in systemic incarceration.

It normalizes the idea that warehousing people is a solution.

It entrenches a surveillance state.

It erodes civil liberties—not just for immigrants, but for all of us.

If we’re serious about immigration reform, we need to dismantle the systems that conflate human dignity with disposability.

We need to stop measuring “success” in profit margins drawn from pain.

And we need to reject any budget that treats caged people as economic activity.

This isn’t border security. It’s bondage rebranded.

Get involved: 

🧮 1. Push Back on the GDP Narrative

GDP is entrenched, but it’s not sacred—and economists, activists, and everyday people are challenging it.

What you can do:

These movements are actively pushing governments to adopt more holistic economic indicators.

    • Pressure local/state officials to pilot alternative metrics (e.g., Maryland has used GPI).
    • Vote with your dollars: Support businesses and orgs rooted in community care, not extraction.

    🧱 2. Oppose the $45 Billion ICE Detention Expansion

    Even before funding is approved, there are real ways to resist.

    What you can do:

    • Contact your reps: Call or write your senators and representatives. Tell them to oppose any budget that funds ICE detention expansion or private prison contracts. Personal, passionate messages matter.
    • Support immigrant rights orgs already fighting back, such as:
    • Spread awareness: Most people don’t know about this $45B proposal. Share this blog post or write your own to help educate and mobilize.
    • Disrupt the profit pipeline: Push for divestment from CoreCivic, GEO Group, and any financial institutions funding them.

    Organize locally: City and county governments often contract with ICE and private prisons. Organizing at the local level can cancel or prevent those deals.

    Conclusion: The story we tell about growth is killing us.

    But together we can write a new one—rooted in care, dignity, and the radical idea that human lives are not expendable.

     

    Women’s History is Being Deleted—And It’s Not About Merit

    Women’s History is Being Deleted—And It’s Not About Merit

    History Doesn’t Vanish—It’s Erased

     

    When the people erasing history are the least qualified to lead, we have to ask: What are they so afraid of?

    Something is happening.

    Quietly.

    Systematically.

    And most people don’t even know it’s underway.

    You won’t hear about it on the nightly news. There won’t be a siren. No front-page headlines.

    Just a quiet, digital deletion—
    Of thousands of names.
    Thousands of stories.
    Entire legacies of service, risk, and sacrifice… gone.

    As I watched Greta Gerwig’s Little Women with my mom and sister at Field Hall’s Women’s History Month celebration the other night, I was reminded that Jo March’s battle to have her voice heard is far from over—because even now, women’s stories are being erased. 

    The struggle to be seen, to be heard, to have one’s work recognized as valuable—it’s not just a personal battle. 

    It’s political. 

    It’s historical.

     It almost happened to me in high school. 

    And it’s happening right now.

    The Power of a Community That Says No

    I grew up in a small town. A town where fairness was valued.

    A town where when the girls’ basketball team was the one dominating the playoffs, we were the ones who played in the prime 7 PM slot—because that’s when the community could show up for us.

    We packed the stands.

    We traded practice times with the boys’ team every other week.

    Our coach even pulled some of the varsity boys into practice against us to push us to improve. (And we beat them sometimes.)

    We were respected. Our skills and our success were recognized.

    Crescent High School girls’ basketball team dressed in tuxedo-style uniforms for a themed event in 1983. The team, known for its success, fought for equal recognition in game schedules and practice times.

    And then we got a new superintendent.

    He came in with an agenda.

    First? Move the girls’ team out of the gym entirely –to the cafetorium, which wasn’t even a full-sized basketball court. He also suggested we could practice before school –so the boys team would have full access to the gym in the afternoon and evening. 

    The second thing he tried? Taking away our prime-time games and moving us to the 4:15 PM game slot.

    His reasoning?

    Well, he might not have said it outright.

    But it was clear: He didn’t believe girls’ basketball deserved the spotlight.

    But here’s the thing: The community pushed back.

    And we won.

    The girls’ team stayed in the gym. We continued trading gym times with the boys. We kept our 7 PM games. The superintendent had to back down.

    Kristin Halberg, Crescent High School basketball player, takes a shot during a playoff game in 1984. The newspaper article highlights her 30-point performance that helped advance the team in the tri- district tournament.

    This was not a fight about politics.

    This was a fight about fairness. About values. About doing what’s right.

    People in my town—regardless of party, background, or beliefs—stood up for the truth.

    They saw what was happening and said, “No. That’s not how we do things here.”

    And that’s what we need now … in our country.

    This Isn’t Just My Story—It’s a Pattern

    The latest example of the attempted erasure of women?

    Women who served in the military.

    The Women Airforce Service Pilots (WASP) were among the first women to fly military aircraft in WWII. Over 25,000 applied for this dangerous work. Only 1,074 were accepted. They ferried new planes, tested overhauled ones, and even flew as live target practice for training gunners.

    Thirty-eight of them died serving a country that refused to drape a flag over their coffins.

    Now, their photographs and records—along with tens of thousands of others documenting women and minorities in the military—are being deleted from government archives as part of Trump’s latest executive order under Defense Secretary Pete Hegseth.

    The justification? A return to “merit.”

    Which begs the question: Whose merit?

    Hegseth himself, a Fox News loyalist with no experience managing anything close to the scale of the Defense Department, is hardly a beacon of qualification.

    The very people who scream “merit” are the same ones whose own credentials wouldn’t survive scrutiny. And yet, they’re in power, wielding the delete key as if history itself is an inconvenience.

    Women Shouldn’t Be Footnotes in History—Without Us There Wouldn’t BE History

    We need to push back against the erasure of women’s history not because it’s a political issue, but because it’s the truth.

    Because truth matters. Because fairness matters. Because recognizing real achievement matters.

    When women’s history is deleted from military archives, it’s not just about the past.

    It’s about the future.

    It’s about what young girls see when they look back and look ahead.

    Will they see a legacy of courage and contribution? Or will they see blank spaces where their stories should have been?

    The most dangerous thing women can do is refuse to disappear.

    So let’s do exactly that.

    Let’s tell these stories. Let’s demand they be preserved.

    Let’s remind those in power that women are not footnotes in history—we are the creators of it. The ones who birth every leader, every soldier, every man who’s ever tried to erase us.