Miami Art Week Exhibition Calls for Shutdown of Alligator Alcatraz

The first thing you notice at the beautiful and beguiling Scope Art Show on Miami Beach is the light. It’s not just the natural sunlight pouring in through windows so picturesque they could be paintings themselves, or reflecting off the beach sand that flows in and out of the massive open concept pop-up. There is also a more conceptual light embodied in the exuberant, kinetic, and colorful multimedia artwork festooning every makeshift booth wall for Miami Art Week.

And then, almost dead-center in the building, you encounter the powerful, sobering Amnesty International exhibit, “Cruelty Is Their Point — But Another World is Possible,” designed to “spotlight the cruel and dangerous immigration detention center, Alligator Alcatraz” — the grim and impoverished facility a mere thirty-six miles from the glitz and glamour of Art Week — “and invite participants to reflect, respond, and take action demanding its closure.” The installation, presented by Amnesty International, features work by artists Agua Dulce and Clarence James to call attention to a new report by the human rights organization alleging the use of torture at the notorious facility.

“Amnesty has a really long history working with artists,” the organization’s director for refugee and migrant rights, Amy Fischer, tells New Times. “And we do that because art has the power to transcend politics — really, to tell stories in a way that a research report can’t, and to bring people together around a deeper sense of shared humanity.”

It is also a necessary corrective in a moment in time where government actors have become extraordinarily skilled at what Fischer calls the “meme-ification of cruelty” — a trend New Times has covered with the grotesque blossoming of Alligator Alcatraz merch.

This is why Dulce, who sees her process as part of a “specific language of cultural relationship, of spirituality, of origin and tradition, of honoring and reverence,” chose to frame her sprawling, meticulously curated, mostly organic altar piece “Untitled (A Hope Is but a Dream Is but a Plan Put to Action)” with a series of mirrors to “encourage reflection and to try to bring awareness to our own personal responsibility.”

“It’s important, even as we welcome all this amazing art from elsewhere, that we also elevate local artists and causes,” Dulce says. “I don’t think anyone wants Art Week to fall into patterns of exploitation or luxury escapism or consumption. But that’s what can occur if we aren’t intentional about highlighting both the beautiful aspects and challenges of the culture here.” 

To say Alligator Alcatraz falls under the “challenges” heading would be an understatement. 

The facility exists in the gray zone between state and federal government oversight, and the lack of accountability, as Amnesty’s report outlines based on a September visit to the facility, is shocking. The account alleges detainees contend with dirty water, poor food, lack of access to lawyers, constant lockdown conditions, and “the box,” which Fischer explains “is a two-foot-by-two-foot cage where individuals are put for punishment, shackled at their wrists and legs, chained to the ground, and forced to stand outside in the sun for hours at a time without food or without water — something tantamount to torture under international law.”

It is, in short, both emblematic of the horrors of the immigration detention system writ large and an escalation of them. 

For James, it is a new chapter in a very long story. He began painting in 2014 after reading George Orwell’s 1984 and having an epiphany that art might be one of the few things potent enough to prevent the book from becoming more of a reality than it already is. For the Amnesty exhibit, he conjured a graffiti-inspired mixed media piece that juxtaposes “classic” state propaganda iconography and Birth of a Nation-esque lionization of systemic and cultural racism with the reality of the violence and repression that naturally, inexorably flows from it, tracing a throughline from Seminole warriors and Native American removal atrocities to current-day immigration policies. (See, for example, the “No Trespassing” sign intertwined with a portrait of Christopher Columbus.) 

“Basically, from birth, images are so essential to how we form our worldview,” James says. “It’s all about how we choose to channel that power. Some are obviously using it for purposes of control and certain other agendas. For me, as an artist, I want to try to use my work to encourage people to open their minds and hearts; to build empathy for others’ lives and experiences. I want to grab people’s attention, but not for no reason, you know? I want them to take notice and be drawn in enough to think a little deeper about what’s happening around them.”

A steady stream of engaged and curious onlookers seems to validate James’ approach. Several even signed the nearby petition to shut down Alligator Alcatraz — from the shadow coming to the light.

“Being able to create a bridge between different kinds of lived experiences, personalities, cultures, and backgrounds, and see it result in real action?” Dulce says, watching James explain his work to two middle-aged women. “That’s like a big thing for me. This feels like we’re getting it right.”

“Cruelty Is Their Point — But Another World Is Possible.” 11 a.m. to 8 p.m. through Sunday, December 7, at Booth #F011 at Scope Pavilion, 801 Ocean Dr., Miami Beach.