The streets of East Los Angeles look almost the same as they did before. Families celebrate graduations over traditional meals. Street vendors hawk fruit and flowers. Yet for those who lived through last summer's federal immigration sweeps, something fundamental has shifted.
Brian Gavidia was pinned against a gate at his car lot on June 12 when armed ICE agents arrived. They refused to accept he was a U.S. citizen. One year later, every white van with tinted windows makes his skin prickle. He wondered if they had returned.
Thousands of arrests in June 2024 shattered the city. Border patrol and ICE agents flooded Los Angeles, which holds the largest undocumented immigrant population in America. National Guard troops moved in alongside federal agents. They swept through car washes, garment factories, and churches. Multiple immigrants died while being chased. Lawyers raced to locate detainees before ICE transferred them out of state or deported them entirely. Mutual aid networks materialized across the region as terrified immigrants chose to stay home.
The raids marked an escalation. What began in Los Angeles spread to Chicago, Portland, Washington DC, and Minneapolis, each location bringing more aggressive tactics. The Trump administration's immigration enforcement crusade had found its template.
Gavidia's business collapsed. Federal agents kept returning to the neighborhood. He closed his used-car refurbishing dealership and for the first time in seven years had to work for someone else. He told his nine-year-old daughter she could not visit for summer. "It was painful," he said. "But it wasn't safe for her."
When a federal court ordered a halt to indiscriminate raids and racial profiling in July, he felt a glimmer of hope. The Supreme Court overturned that ruling in September. "I was devastated," Gavidia said. The ACLU and immigrant rights groups are still fighting the decision.
Across the city, the scars remain visible. Lorena spent weeks indoors selling tamales from her Koreatown home. Yurien cannot forget the image of her father handcuffed and chained at the waist and ankles, whisked away in front of the LA fashion district. Noemi now receives a morning greeting from her husband via phone, calling from Mexico after being deported in June.
Elizabeth Brennan of the Warehouse Workers Resource Center described the damage as precise and pervasive: "It's like we have little missing teeth, everywhere."
At MacArthur Park's Home Depot, day laborers still gather searching for work. On June 6, masked federal agents arrived in white vans and arrested nearly two dozen workers. In August, despite the court order, border patrol returned in a yellow rental truck. The driver offered jobs. Then masked agents emerged from the back and started making arrests.
"Until the mandate of the president ends, we are going to be in danger," said Frederico, 62, a laborer who came from Guatemala in 1998. Fewer workers now venture to Home Depot job sites. Businesses have closed. People no longer want to spend or invest.
In the fashion district, Antonio and his wife Alma co-own a fabric shop. June used to be their busiest season with graduations and parties driving sales. On June 6, agents arrested dozens of workers at Ambiance Apparel, a major manufacturer. Fourteen members of one family, many from the Indigenous Zapotec community, were taken that day.
Antonio remembers exactly when it happened. He was finalizing a large order of fabric rolls worth $4,000 to $6,000 each. News spread that federal agents had arrived. His client cancelled immediately. Since then, sales have dropped 85 percent. "It's a drastic change," he said.
Citlali Fermin's family of 14 were among those arrested. Afterward, organizers launched a campaign called Lucha Zapoteca. Of the 14, one was released, one was deported after being coerced into signing documents under false pretenses, another left detention due to inhumane conditions, and the last exited after six months inside.
The raids may have slowed, but arrests continue. People detained at routine immigration check-in appointments. Others caught in targeted operations or as bystanders. An Amazon driver was detained after delivering to a military base. A laborer was chased into a Home Depot and taken away bloodied and in handcuffs.
"The arrests never really stopped," said Jorge Nicolás, a senior organizer at Central American Resource Center.
Before the raids, fewer than 1,000 people sat in ICE detention in the LA area on any given day. That number has doubled. The Adelanto detention center, located east of Los Angeles in the high desert, became the site of a May hunger strike. Detainees protested murky drinking water, moldy food, and lack of medical care. Some reported being zip-tied and threatened with teargas and transfers. The Department of Homeland Security denied a hunger strike occurred.
Melissa Shepard, director of legal services at immigrant advocacy organization ImmDef, called the detention centers "alarming." They function as both deterrent and punishment, she said. Conditions are so harsh that many detainees give up their cases and accept deportation just to escape.
Securing release through bond has become nearly impossible. The minimum bond is $1,500, but judges increasingly demand $15,000 to $20,000. Detainees must pay the full amount upfront to leave.
Jennifer Gutierrez of Clergy and Laity United for Economic Justice has spent at least $1.5 million helping 150 immigrants pay bonds through her organization. A long waiting list of applicants remains. The government holds the money until immigration cases close, but the court system is severely backlogged. Of 150 bonds paid by her group, only three have been returned.
Rochelle Garza, chair of the U.S. Commission on Civil Rights, held a People's Hearing on Immigration Enforcement where dozens testified. She has conducted similar hearings in Minneapolis and Chicago. "What we are seeing is a terrorizing of our communities," she said.
Gavidia testified that day. He believes in America and refuses to stop fighting for his rights. After the hearing, he shared news that lightened the room: he was restarting his used car business. "I'm excited. We have to keep building."
Author James Rodriguez: "A year out and Los Angeles still hasn't caught its breath, but Gavidia and others like him are refusing to let the raids define their future."
Comments