Florida’s Authoritarian Turn: Inside an Underreported Crackdown in the Sunshine State

A State’s Hardline Shift Hidden in Plain Sight

In Florida, thousands of confiscated books disappear from school shelves, construction sites lie abandoned for lack of workers, and a sprawling camp holds migrants in chain-link cages amid the swamps. These scenes are part of a uniquely authoritarian shift unfolding under Gov. Ron DeSantis’s administration – a campaign of censorship, hardline policing, and anti-immigrant crackdowns that observers call more extreme than in any other state. Yet the full scope of this transformation has largely been downplayed in national media, often framed as isolated “culture war” flare-ups rather than a broader assault on civil liberties and democracy . Now, an investigation by Big Mouth Media reveals how Florida’s recent laws and law enforcement practices echo authoritarian regimes – and why these realities remain underreported.

Direct accounts from Floridians paint a stark picture: Teachers speak of “quietly” pulling books off classroom shelves to avoid felony charges . Farm owners report crops rotting in the fields because migrant laborers have fled the state . And at a remote Everglades airfield turned detention camp, a detainee’s fiancé describes him living “in a chain-link cage… unaware of why he was detained, where he might be sent, [or] how long he would be stuck” . As Florida’s government tightens control over information and individuals, critics say the state is exhibiting hallmarks of fascistic governance – from draconian censorship in schools to harsh anti-immigrant policing – even as media coverage often fails to connect the dots.

Censorship and “Gag Order” Laws Muzzle Education

Florida has enacted some of the most sweeping educational censorship laws in the nation, prompting free speech advocates to sound the alarm. The state now leads the U.S. in school book bans: over the past two years, Florida removed roughly 4,500 books from school libraries – nearly half of all removals nationwide . Under new mandates, districts must scrutinize or eliminate materials on race, sexuality, and history; in practice, this has led to “books being weeded” en masse and even covered up or boxed away by fearful educators . PEN America reports that Florida again topped the country in book censorship in 2023-24, as districts responded to vague state directives by yanking any titles that might violate the law . The targeted works overwhelmingly include those by Black or LGBTQ authors and books on racism or gender identity .

Educators describe a “chilling effect”. Many teachers have preemptively cleared their classroom libraries or avoided any discussion of race, racism, or LGBTQ topics to avoid punishment . “Because the threat here is that teachers could be fired,” explains NYU education researcher Hirokazu Yoshikawa, “a lot of quiet removal [of books]… beyond the lists of books that have formally been banned” . Florida’s so-called “individual freedom” laws – known by opponents as gag orders or the “Stop W.O.K.E. Act” – ban classroom lessons that might cause a student “guilt” or “anguish” due to historic wrongs by their race. In effect, say scholars, the state is outlawing honest discussion of structural racism or sexism, an approach more characteristic of autocratic regimes than a democracy . “Indoctrination rarely takes place by allowing the free flow of ideas,” writes Yale philosopher Jason Stanley. “Indoctrination… takes place by banning ideas. Celebrating the banning of authors and concepts as ‘freedom from indoctrination’ is as Orwellian as politics gets.”

Civil rights historians note the parallels: If a far-right government in Germany banned teaching about Nazi crimes to spare children’s feelings, the world would decry it as authoritarian . Florida’s law similarly “signals the dawn of a new authoritarian age” in America, Stanley argues, with the state “using laws restricting speech to intimidate, bully and punish educators” into submission to the majority’s ideology . Yet many media outlets soft-pedal these measures as mere “culture war” tussles, a misrepresentation that obscures their truly anti-democratic nature . Meanwhile, Florida officials have doubled down: state universities are forced to dismantle diversity programs and courses, and the Education Department even banned an Advanced Placement African American Studies course for including concepts like systemic racism . Such maneuvers to control curricula and censor literature have prompted editorial boards to warn of “unchecked one-man rule” in the state .

Policing Dissent: Protest Crackdowns and Political Reprisal

Florida’s leadership has also moved aggressively to suppress public dissent. In 2021, DeSantis championed a sweeping anti-protest law (HB 1, the “Combatting Public Disorder” Act) in the wake of nationwide Black Lives Matter demonstrations. The law created new felony offenses for actions broadly defined as “rioting,” imposed harsh mandatory penalties, and even granted legal immunity to drivers who run down protesters blocking a road . Civil rights groups immediately challenged the law as an unconstitutional attack on free assembly. A federal judge found the statutory definition of “riot” so vague that “the lawless actions of a few rogue individuals could effectively criminalize the protected speech of hundreds” of peaceful protesters . In September 2021, the court blocked enforcement of key portions of the law for violating the First Amendment .

“If this court does not enjoin the statute’s enforcement… the lawless actions of a few rogue individuals could effectively criminalize the protected speech of hundreds,” U.S. District Judge Mark Walker warned in his injunction, noting the risk of guilt by association for anyone attending a protest that someone else turns violent  .

Despite legal setbacks, the state fought to preserve the law. In 2024, a federal appellate panel temporarily allowed Florida to enforce the act after the state supreme court narrowly interpreted it to ostensibly exempt peaceful demonstrators . While officials tout this as a win for “law and order,” critics say the intended effect – chilling public protest, especially in Black communities – was largely achieved . The ACLU of Florida notes that HB 1 “threatened Black Floridians who have been criminalized and targeted for exercising their rights,” and lauded court rulings that reaffirm protesters’ legal protections . Nonetheless, the message was sent: in Florida, marching in the streets against state policies can carry grave risk. The climate of intimidation extends further – from the governor’s creation of an “election police” unit that arrested former felons for voter fraud (many of whom insist they believed they were eligible to vote), to the ouster of local elected officials who defied Tallahassee’s line. In one high-profile example, DeSantis suspended a Tampa-area state attorney who spoke against enforcing new abortion restrictions, a move the Miami Herald blasted as part of the governor’s “hyper-authoritarian” streak .

Overall, watchdogs say Florida’s leadership has shown an “ideologue’s” zeal in weaponizing state power against perceived opponents . “He is already using his position of power to punish his enemies and reward his allies,” media critic Dan Froomkin wrote of DeSantis, noting how the governor targets everyone from political dissidents to private companies that cross him . DeSantis’s administration infamously retaliated against Disney – one of the state’s largest employers – stripping it of special local governance status after the company spoke out against Florida’s LGBTQ classroom law . The big picture, analysts argue, is a systematic attempt to entrench one-party control through fear and force. “Not everybody knows who he is yet. And in some ways, he’s much more dangerous to our democracy than Trump,” Froomkin warned, calling DeSantis “a fascist… with a real track record of authoritarian governance.”

Florida’s Reliance on Migrant Labor: An Open Secret

Even as the state cracks down on immigration, Florida’s economy is deeply dependent on migrant labor – including hundreds of thousands of undocumented workers. An estimated 390,000 undocumented immigrants are employed in Florida’s six key industries, from agriculture and construction to hospitality and tourism . According to the Florida Policy Institute, these workers earned over $12 billion in wages in a single year (2019) and comprised nearly 10% of the workforce in those sectors . In agriculture alone, undocumented labor makes up a staggering share: about 47% of Florida’s farmworkers lack legal status, a recent study found . Seasonal crop picking, citrus harvesting, and other farm jobs have long relied on migrant crews willing to work in difficult conditions for low pay. “If the federal government actually wanted to do something, they would fix the guest-worker [H-2A] program, which would substantially fix our labor [shortage] in agriculture,” Florida’s Republican Agriculture Commissioner Wilton Simpson remarked, tacitly acknowledging how vital foreign labor is to the state’s farms .

Beyond the fields, immigrants (documented and undocumented) form the backbone of Florida’s construction, hospitality, and service industries. They build homes and resorts, staff hotels and restaurants, and care for children and the elderly. “Latinos… make a big part of the economy. Not just in restaurants – in everything. Working in fields, working in roofing, construction – they play a big part in the United States, not just Florida,” says Rosary Hernandez, a restaurant manager in Palm Beach County . Her long-time coworker – an undocumented kitchen employee – fled the state days after Tallahassee passed its latest immigration law, Senate Bill 1718. Now, Hernandez struggles to fill the gap, and she’s even seen regular customers vanish as immigrant families grow afraid to even go out for food . “Sooner or later, they’re not going to want to come in at all,” she says of her community’s fears .

Data underscores these personal stories. Undocumented immigrants comprise significant portions of Florida’s construction crews and service employees, often doing jobs native-born workers are unwilling to take for the wages offered. They also contribute to public coffers – paying an estimated $923 million in state and local taxes annually . In total, roughly one in five Florida workers is foreign-born (including naturalized citizens and visa holders), and about 4% of the state’s entire population is undocumented . “Our state’s top industries – tourism and agriculture in particular – have historically relied on immigrant labor,” notes U.S. Rep. Darren Soto, who represents a Central Florida district . “Our farmers are saying they can’t find workers and crops [are] rotting in the fields… [Hoteliers] talked about how they’re losing employees… And then the construction industry – this is going to affect affordable housing… and infrastructure.” In short, Florida’s prosperity is intertwined with migrants’ sweat equity. This dependency makes the state’s recent anti-immigrant crackdown not only a humanitarian concern but a potential self-inflicted economic wound.

SB 1718: Crackdown Law Brings Fear, Shortages, and Legal Challenges

Florida’s new immigration law, SB 1718, has been called one of the strictest in the nation – and its devastating impact is already being felt in communities and businesses. Enacted in mid-2023, SB 1718 deploys a multi-pronged strategy to purge undocumented immigrants from the state. Among its key provisions, the law:

• Mandates E-Verify for most employers (those with 25+ workers) and imposes heavy penalties (fines and license suspensions) on businesses that fail to check employees’ work authorization . It also makes it a felony for an undocumented person to use false papers to gain employment . State analysts warned this could drive 10% of the workforce out of critical industries and cost Florida’s economy $12.6 billion in GDP (1.1%) in one year .

• Criminalizes transportation of undocumented people into or within Florida. In its initial form, anyone – including U.S. citizens – could face a third-degree felony for “knowingly” transporting an undocumented person, even a friend or family member, “for a simple act such as driving a family member to a doctor’s appointment” . This “human smuggling” section (Section 10) was so broad and punitive that a federal court blocked it in May 2024, citing the risk of “irreparable injury” to families and communities if Good Samaritans could be jailed for giving a neighbor a ride . “The court was right to block this callous and patently unconstitutional law, which had threatened Floridians with jail time for doing the most ordinary things,” said Spencer Amdur of the ACLU Immigrants’ Rights Project .

• Invalidates identification documents issued to undocumented immigrants in other states (for instance, certain driver’s licenses or municipal ID cards) . This effectively leaves many long-time Florida residents unable to legally drive, further marginalizing them.

• Requires hospitals that accept Medicaid to ask patients their immigration status and report the costs of care for undocumented patients . Immigrant advocates fear this will deter people from seeking medical treatment – a concern borne out by data: in the first six months of the law, undocumented immigrants accounted for under 1% of hospital visits, yet many more patients simply refused to answer the status question . Emergency Medicaid spending in Florida dropped, suggesting that immigrant families are avoiding hospitals out of fear, possibly at grave cost to their health .

Florida Republicans touted SB 1718 as a tough response to illegal immigration, but on the ground it has sowed chaos and anxiety. “SB 1718 inhumanely and intentionally terrorizes immigrants,” says State Rep. Dotie Joseph, one of many critics, “and exacerbates our state’s existing post-COVID labor shortages in vital industries.” Indeed, even before the law took effect on July 1, 2023, reports emerged of undocumented workers fleeing Florida in droves . Construction companies and farms began losing employees; some contractors reported half their crew disappeared overnight. Photos and videos circulated on social media showing idle backhoes on work sites and half-finished projects. While some claims of a mass exodus were exaggerated, business owners across the state confirmed a notable shrinkage in their labor force. “Longtime employees are quitting and even leaving the state,” reported a West Palm Beach news outlet just weeks after SB 1718 was signed . In Indiantown, a farm town, migrant laborers have packed up their families and moved to less hostile states, turning the area into what one local pastor called a “ghost town”.

The human toll has been profound. Advocacy groups describe a climate of panic among immigrant communities, regardless of legal status. Mixed-status families (with U.S.-born children or legal residents) now live in constant fear that a routine traffic stop or trip to the clinic could lead to a family member’s detention. There are accounts of U.S. citizens and legal residents being caught up by mistake – for instance, workers with Temporary Protected Status or green cards erroneously flagged by E-Verify and let go . Florida’s own analysis estimated over 11,000 authorized workers could be wrongfully rejected by E-Verify due to database errors, including disproportionate numbers of naturalized citizens and permanent residents . In one widely reported incident, a U.S. citizen truck driver of Puerto Rican descent was detained for days because officers wrongly suspected him of being undocumented.

Businesses, for their part, warn that labor-intensive sectors are nearing crisis. “Floridians will see higher costs for our groceries due to worker shortages, longer waits at restaurants, [and] less housing options as construction workforces flee,” Rep. Joseph cautioned as SB 1718 neared implementation . Those predictions are coming true: the Florida Farm Bureau reports crops like watermelons and oranges are going unpicked in some fields; homebuilders say projects are delayed or cancelled for lack of crews. “It will be harder to find people to care for our children and our aging population,” Joseph added – a nod to the many undocumented nannies, home health aides and elder-care workers quietly underpinning Florida’s caregiving economy . Even some Republican lawmakers who voted for the bill expressed private misgivings. (Notably, one GOP state representative urged farmworkers not to panic, assuring migrant laborers they wouldn’t be targeted – even as he supported the law cracking down on them .)

Facing backlash, Florida officials have doubled down rhetorically. Governor DeSantis, who signed SB 1718 while running for president, argued the exodus of undocumented people “is what we want” – framing it as a success of his deterrence strategy. The administration points to an influx of migrants at the U.S. southern border and claims tough measures are needed to uphold the rule of law. But local leaders from both parties worry about unintended consequences. Some county sheriffs fear that under SB 1718’s transport ban, immigrant communities became reluctant to cooperate with police or report crimes (though Section 10 is now on hold by court order ). Hospitals have noted a decline in immigrant patients seeking even emergency care since the law’s passage, raising public health alarms . “These new requirements sit against a backdrop of other restrictive policies… likely increasing fears among immigrant families,” wrote analysts at the Kaiser Family Foundation, who found that even lawfully present immigrants and U.S.-born kids are avoiding services due to the climate of fear .

Politically, SB 1718 reflects Florida’s hard-right turn on immigration – a stance once tempered by the state’s business interests and diverse electorate. Previous attempts to mandate E-Verify or cut services to undocumented residents had failed in Tallahassee under pressure from the agriculture, tourism and construction lobbies . This time, those interests largely stayed quiet. Observers attribute their silence to DeSantis’s punitive style of politics: after seeing Disney and others punished, many business leaders feared speaking out would make them targets . “It’s a very difficult political context,” said Samuel Vilchez of the American Business Immigration Coalition, describing an “environment in which business leaders are afraid” to oppose the governor . That dynamic – private unease with public conformity – is another trait Florida increasingly shares with autocratic regimes.

“Alligator Alcatraz”: A Detention Camp Deep in the Everglades

At the Dade-Collier Training and Transition Airport – an isolated, long-defunct airstrip in the middle of the Everglades – Florida has erected a sprawling migrant detention camp known by the macabre nickname “Alligator Alcatraz.” Inaugurated in early July 2025, the site is emblematic of Florida’s authoritarian lurch: a state-run immigration detention center hastily built on environmentally sensitive land, where detainees describe conditions as “bordering on torture” . Under large military-style tents and trailers, up to 3,000 men and women await deportation behind chain-link fencing, surrounded by marshes teeming with alligators . The unofficial moniker “Alligator Alcatraz” – reportedly coined by federal agents – underscores the intent: the swamp itself is a natural moat, teeming with reptiles to discourage escape .

“They want to make a mass tent detention facility in the middle of the Everglades, in the hot, burning Florida sun, in the swamp… It’s cruel. It’s a tragedy. It’s horrible,” says U.S. Rep. Maxwell Alejandro Frost, one of many lawmakers decrying the camp . Detainees and their families paint a harrowing picture of life inside. “He says it is worse than prison,” Sonia Bichara says of her 35-year-old fiancé, held at Alligator Alcatraz for over a month . Confined to a cage with another man, he went weeks without seeing daylight or knowing the time of day. “You don’t know if it rains, you don’t know if it’s sunny out there, you don’t know if it’s dark – it’s like you’re dead alive,” Bichara recalls him telling her in daily phone calls . When summer thunderstorms roll in, rainwater floods the tents, soaking bedding and spreading filth . The subtropical heat is stifling – except when giant portable air conditioners send “bone-shaking cold” blasts through the tents at night . Detainees report swarms of mosquitos and insects, overflowing toilets, limited access to medical care, and outbreaks of illness. In one court declaration, an attorney described “several people… showing COVID symptoms without being separated” and ignored medical requests, as well as non-functional bathrooms and no ventilation other than fans .

Florida officials insist that basic standards are being met, noting the camp provides three meals a day (two hot) and supplies bedding, clothing, and showers per federal detention guidelines . However, attorneys for detainees say many of those standards are nominal at best – and legal access is severely impeded. Unlike traditional Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) facilities, Alligator Alcatraz initially lacked confidential meeting spaces or even clear procedures for attorney visits . “These open and non-confidential visitation tents are very much unlike any other facility I have ever seen,” immigration lawyer Vilerka Bilbao wrote, noting there were no private phone lines or secure email systems for lawyers to communicate with clients . Detainees, alarmingly, were disappearing from ICE’s online locator system after transfer to the camp – effectively vanishing from public view and making it harder for families to find them . “I’ve never seen treatment so deliberately cruel and… aimed at disincentivizing people from immigrating,” says attorney Eric Lee, who represents a former detainee. “It’s bordering on torture, based on what I’m hearing from people.”

The camp’s location and rapid construction have sparked a firestorm of opposition from environmental groups, Indigenous tribes, and human rights advocates. Built on the edge of the Big Cypress National Preserve (ancestral lands to the Miccosukee and Seminole peoples), the facility was rushed into operation by state authorities without the usual environmental reviews . The camp consists of rows of heavy-duty tents, newly paved access roads, floodlights, and mobile infrastructure – all in a fragile wetlands ecosystem. Conservationists fear contamination of the Everglades from waste runoff and diesel generators, as well as disruption to wildlife from the high-intensity lighting visible for miles at night . “The environmental impacts will be devastating,” wrote Friends of the Everglades and other plaintiffs in a federal lawsuit, accusing officials of trying to hide the project “under cover of darkness” without public scrutiny . (Photos taken by environmental watchdogs show fresh asphalt covering former grassy areas and bright lights illuminating the once-pristine night sky over the swamp .)

Tribal leaders have also objected strenuously. The Miccosukee Tribe, whose reservation lies nearby, blasted the state for encroaching on ecologically important land and potentially harming water quality. The Seminole Tribe likewise denounced the plan for disrespecting Indigenous communities and treaty lands . Yet Florida’s government barreled ahead. In late June 2025, Gov. DeSantis’s new state “Immigration Enforcement” unit (a special force within the Florida State Guard) opened Alligator Alcatraz under an emergency order . The move was coordinated with the federal Department of Homeland Security via a 287(g) agreement, allowing state agents to hold immigrants on behalf of ICE . President Donald Trump – newly re-elected and pursuing hardline immigration policies – visited the Everglades camp in person, hailing it as “a very secure, very important” model facility . “They have a lot of bodyguards and a lot of cops in the form of alligators,” Trump quipped as he toured the swamp perimeter, “I wouldn’t want to run through the Everglades for long.”

From a policy perspective, Alligator Alcatraz marks a radical departure: it is a state-run mass detention center for immigration, something unprecedented in modern U.S. history . Traditionally, immigration detention is handled by federal agencies (ICE or Border Patrol) or contracted private prisons. Florida, however, has created a blueprint for states to directly jail migrants. “Experts worry this will allow Florida to create an ‘independent, unaccountable detention system’ parallel to the federal system,” wrote a group of 65 members of Congress in a letter to DHS, warning that accountability and legal standards could slip . Those lawmakers – led by Oregon Sen. Jeff Merkley and Florida Rep. Debbie Wasserman Schultz – have demanded to know what legal authority permits Florida to run such a camp and whether detainees’ rights are being protected . They note that multiple lawsuits are already underway: one federal judge temporarily halted further construction at the site pending an environmental review , and another suit forced ICE to establish a pop-up immigration court nearby to handle the detainees’ legal proceedings . Attorneys argue the rushed setup denied many detainees access to counsel and due process, potentially violating their constitutional rights .

Florida officials defend the project’s necessity. With migration at the U.S.–Mexico border high, DeSantis argues that Florida must “lead the way” in detaining and deporting those who cross illegally . “It’s important that we’re leading… other states [will] start to follow more like Florida is,” the governor said at a June press conference . State Attorney General James Uthmeier, who branded the camp with its “Alcatraz” nickname, boasted that Florida could hold 5,000 detainees by early July and deport them efficiently . Documents obtained by journalists reveal the state has identified other potential sites – including a National Guard base at Camp Blanding in North Florida – to expand its detention capacity . Florida has even pre-negotiated contracts with a dozen logistics companies to rapidly erect additional tent cities near small airports, each capable of holding up to 10,000 people on 72 hours’ notice . Civil liberties experts view this with alarm. “The whole purpose is to facilitate increased frequency and numbers of deportations of illegal aliens,” DeSantis openly stated , aligning with Trump’s pledge for the “largest deportation” effort in U.S. history .

For those inside Alligator Alcatraz’s fences, however, the grand political designs mean little compared to daily survival. Families of detainees describe heart-rending situations. One Honduran father was arrested during a routine traffic stop in Miami and shipped to the camp; his U.S.-citizen children went weeks without knowing where he was. A young Venezuelan man who had applied for asylum (and was awaiting a work permit) was swept up and sent to the Everglades facility, where he fell ill. “It’s like you’re in legal purgatory,” said one detainee, speaking through the walls to an advocate. “You don’t know what’s going to happen to you or even why you’re here.” Florida has since begun flying detainees from the camp out of the country on deportation flights – a trend likely to accelerate. The question now, say rights groups, is whether this experiment in state-run detention will face stronger checks from courts and Washington. Congressional Democrats are pressing DHS to “ensure transparency and accountability” for Florida’s actions, lest a patchwork of “Speedway Slammers” and “Cornhusker Clinks” (as similar state-linked detention sites have been dubbed in Indiana and Nebraska) proliferate across red states .

Why the National Media Isn’t Telling the Full Story

Despite these dramatic developments, Florida’s authoritarian turn has not broken through in the national news narrative – at least not in a sustained or comprehensive way. Analysts point to several reasons why the mainstream media has downplayed or fragmented this story:

• Fragmented, Episodic Coverage: Much of the coverage treats Florida’s moves as separate controversies – one week a segment on book bans, another on a migrant flight to Martha’s Vineyard, another on Disney’s spat with DeSantis. What’s often missing is connecting the dots. “The unthinkable – laws that criminalize constitutionally protected speech or punish a company that disagrees – is a big deal for a few days… Then it becomes old news,” observes Dan Froomkin, critiquing how quickly outrage ebbs in the 24-hour news cycle . With each new provocation, media attention moves on, and the broader pattern of authoritarianism escapes sustained scrutiny.

• “Culture War” Framing: Many outlets couch Florida’s policies in euphemisms like “culture war” or “partisan feud,” which can mask the real stakes. For example, book bans or gag orders on teachers get reported as school board squabbles or ideological tugs-of-war, rather than suppression of ideas characteristic of fascist regimes. “The media’s portrayal of these laws as moves in a ‘culture war’ is an unconscionable misrepresentation of fascism,” argues Jason Stanley . By normalizing extreme actions as just politics-as-usual, coverage fails to convey the danger to democratic norms.

• Both-Sides Equivocation: Mainstream U.S. journalism often bends over backwards to appear impartial, giving equal weight to arguments from the state’s defenders even when facts indicate one side is undermining fundamental rights. Reporters may quote officials saying the protest law is about stopping “rioters” or that book removals are about “inappropriate content,” without clearly contextualizing how unprecedented or extreme these measures are. This false equivalence can normalize radical policies. “He is counting on mainstream journalists… being so desperate to cast themselves as ‘impartial’ that they will normalize what is effectively 21st-century American fascism,” Froomkin wrote of DeSantis’s media strategy . In practice, many outlets have indeed been hesitant to use labels like “authoritarian” or “racist” in hard news reports, even when experts or history might justify them.

• Sensationalism and Distraction: Paradoxically, some aspects of Florida’s story have received sensational coverage – the migrant flights orchestrated by the governor, for instance, made national headlines. But these were often treated as political theater (how will this play in the polls?) rather than as part of a mounting policy regime. The hurricane of daily national news – from federal indictments to overseas conflicts – also means Florida’s developments must compete for airtime. Unless there’s a dramatic flashpoint (e.g. a fiery school board meeting or a protest clash), slow erosion of rights doesn’t always grab editors’ attention.

• Fear of Backlash: News organizations face heat when they are seen as too critical of a Republican stronghold. Florida’s governor and his allies frequently blast the “liberal media” and have shown a willingness to retaliate (DeSantis’s team, for example, barred certain reporters from events and publicly feuded with outlets over critical stories). This creates a chilling effect. Some national journalists may soft-pedal their reporting to avoid being accused of bias or incurring audience backlash, especially given Florida’s importance in elections. Internally, editors might steer clear of framing stories in ways that could be attacked as partisan – like explicitly warning of “creeping fascism.”

The result of these factors is a kind of national blind spot regarding Florida. Outside of the state (and progressive media circles), many Americans are only vaguely aware of the severity of what’s happening. They might know DeSantis is “controversial” or that Florida passed a law about not saying “gay” in schools, but few realize the extent to which the state is trailblazing authoritarian policies that could spread elsewhere. Florida’s government, for its part, is adept at messaging. It pitches its actions as bold conservative leadership – protecting children, securing borders, enforcing law – and mainstream coverage often regurgitates those talking points without interrogating the human costs. Meanwhile, those directly affected – immigrants afraid to go outside, teachers uncertain what they can say, protestors weighing the risk of prison – struggle to have their voices heard on the national stage.

Media critics suggest that telling Florida’s story requires connecting the human dots and breaking the siloed approach. “We need to talk about these issues as what they are – an authoritarian takeover at the state level – not just a bunch of policy fights,” says a journalism professor from the University of Florida. There are signs of change: investigative features (like this one) are beginning to compile the evidence, and comparisons to global authoritarian trends (Hungary’s Orban, for example) have started to surface in commentary . Florida’s experiment has even drawn notice abroad, with some foreign press wondering aloud if the Sunshine State is still a fully free society.

A Warning and a Test for American Democracy

On the ground in Florida, the real-world consequences of this authoritarian shift are unfolding daily. A child in Miami asks why her favorite library book vanished. A farm owner in Homestead watches produce wither for lack of harvest hands. A protest organizer in Tampa weighs whether demonstrating is worth a potential felony record. A mother in Immokalee keeps her kids home from school, fearful that a new policy could expose her undocumented status. And at “Alligator Alcatraz,” hundreds of immigrants languish in limbo, as the Everglades nights are lit by floodlights and patrolled by the glowing eyes of alligators.

Florida’s trajectory under Gov. DeSantis is being closely watched as a harbinger. Supporters believe he has created a model of uncompromising conservatism that could roll back what they see as liberal excesses nationwide. But detractors see a blueprint for state-level authoritarianism that other governors might emulate – a “laboratory of autocracy,” to borrow a phrase from one Ohio statehouse critic. The unanswered question is how resilient democratic institutions and civil society will be in responding. Courts have provided some brake on the most egregious measures (blocking vague protest definitions, halting the transport ban, etc.), but in other arenas – education, corporate retaliation, election administration – checks and balances have proven weak. Florida’s legislature is firmly in the governor’s grip; its supreme court is packed with his appointees. Traditional guardrails, like a vigorous local press and bipartisan outrage, have eroded. The Miami Herald wrote in 2022 that Florida was veering toward “unchecked one-man rule” – a stark admonition from a publication that has covered the state for a century.

For now, Florida’s citizens are navigating a new normal. Immigrant advocacy groups are ramping up “know your rights” trainings and setting up hotlines for reporting abuses. Librarians and students have organized “Banned Book” clubs and pop-up libraries to push back against censorship. Civil rights organizations are monitoring police actions under the anti-riot law, ready to file suit at the first sign of abuse. And a coalition of Democratic lawmakers at the federal level is seeking to shine a light on the migrant camp and other excesses, hoping oversight and transparency can curb the worst violations .

Ultimately, Florida’s experience is a stress test for American democracy at the subnational level. It raises the sobering prospect that parts of the country could slide into a form of soft fascism – characterized by suppression of dissent, control over truth, scapegoating of minorities, and the fusion of state power with an extreme party agenda – even as normal life carries on for many residents. And it highlights how the media’s treatment of such changes can shape public perception. The Sunshine State’s motto is “In God We Trust,” but for those alarmed by recent events, a more fitting adage might be “Eternal vigilance is the price of liberty.” Florida is testing the limits of that vigilance. Whether the rest of the nation takes notice – and learns the right lessons – remains to be seen.