Delaney Hall, a thousand-bed privately owned ICE prison in Newark, is in the city’s industrial lowlands. Its address, 451 Doremus Avenue, makes it seem like an entity with physical limits, but that’s not how it looks to passersby, unless they are in the air, taking off from or landing at Newark Airport. Delaney Hall occupies tens of thousands of square feet enclosed in chain-link fencing that bulges outward like the front end of a whale, if you can imagine a whale also crisscrossed with razor wire. To a person at ground level, Delaney Hall seems to go on forever.

Trucks travelling between the Port of Elizabeth and Interstate 95 use Doremus Avenue. They are forced to kind of creep along, because it has so many speed bumps. As they creep, they shift gears and rev engines, sometimes at a complete standstill. You can see the logos from the curb—J. B. Hunt Intermodal, Costco Shipping, Tiamar Transport, Penn’s Best, Evergreen, Owens Truckmen, Hapag-Lloyd, Maersk Line, Bold Disposal, Hamburg Süd, China Shipping, and more.

When the trucks pass the crowd that is protesting the treatment of the detainees the facility now holds (it is the largest ICE prison on the East Coast), some of the drivers honk in support. The horns are incredibly loud. Now and then, a driver will blast his horn for what seems like minutes. Amid the protesters facing off with the ICE agents, the volunteers there to help the detainees, the banks of media cameras on tripods, the planes and helicopters overhead, the pipelines, train tracks, telephone poles, and the vast bulk of the prison itself, a long blast from a truck sounds satisfying and right.

On a recent Sunday, some of the volunteers and protesters came from churches or synagogues in the metro area. A parishioner at St. John’s Episcopal Church, in Montclair, New Jersey, was there and met congregants from Temple Ner Tamid, in Bloomfield, some of whom were distributing clothing to would-be prison visitors who had been turned away because they had on tank tops, open-toed shoes, hoodies bearing banned slogans, etc. A young woman named Gabriela Soto was waiting to be admitted to see her husband. She feared he would be transferred to another prison to retaliate against her for speaking out. As she stood in the crowd, her phone rang. She answered it, then cried, “They’re releasing him!” She grabbed Sally Pillay, one of the volunteers, and showed her the caller I.D., which read “Delaney Hall.” Pillay, wearing black clothing and hot-pink shoes, ran with Soto to the visitors’ gate. A delay followed. Soto became upset. “You gotta be optimistic,” the man at the gate told her. Finally, he admitted Soto and Pillay, who disappeared into a long stretch of barbed wire. But, despite their efforts, Soto emerged without her husband, who was, indeed, transferred soon afterward.

Bad feeling from this development carried over to the next day, when more protesters showed up. Andy Kim, one of New Jersey’s U.S. senators, came to inspect the facility, as federal officials are entitled to do. ICE shot pepper balls at the protesters, and Senator Kim was hit in the face by the spray.

On Tuesday, the St. John’s parishioner returned. Now even more protesters, some in kaffiyehs, squared off with ICE. The truck traffic had intensified, too. Over and over, horns blew in support, or maybe also in rage. Hundreds of detainees were on a hunger strike, asking for unspoiled food, medical care, and an end to punitive transfers, among other demands. Their first written statement began by apologizing for their having entered the country illegally.