“This work is an honor as a human being, not just as an activist,” Sequarier McCoy said.
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L.A. County’s Black residents — 20% of whom are immigrants or children of immigrants — are standing in solidarity with their Latino neighbors, saying they are part of a shared fight against over-policing and racialized violence. Nine out of 10 ICE arrests have been of Latinos. Community Coalition, known as CoCo, is training dozens of block captains to canvass their communities and coordinate food drop-offs, safety check-ins, and care referrals in real time.
Long history of solidarity: The roots of Black and Latino collaboration go back to the founding of L.A. itself, where 26 of the city’s 44 original settlers in 1781 were Black/Afro-Latino with Spanish surnames — establishing a tradition of mixed neighborhoods and joint political action. This foundation was later strengthened during the Great Migration and again throughout the 20th century. In recent decades, the demographic mix in South Central has shifted further. Where once the community was predominantly Black, Latino residents now form the majority. The change created new opportunities for solidarity, as well as challenges, especially
Four months after nearly 5,000 federal troops descended onto Los Angeles, Marsha Mitchell, a Black organizer in South Central, explained what made it impossible for her not to act: her neighbors.
At the peak of the federal immigration raids this summer — when U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement was arresting an average of 540 people per week in the city — her neighbor, Erica, and her husband and friend were taken by federal agents while eating breakfast in their home.
All three were placed in a van and driven toward downtown Los Angeles.
But Erica knew she had to get back to her small children, recalled Mitchell, a lifelong South Central resident, from a conversation she had with her neighbor.
“As a mother, her whole thing was, I got to get to my babies,” Mitchell said.
When the agents opened the van doors in downtown L.A., Erica broke free — still tied up, still terrified — and ran. While Erica managed to escape, her husband was placed in the detention center, where he said conditions were unbearable. According to Mitchell, he self-deported rather than endure them, choosing to escape the system that had trapped him.
Erica was the family’s breadwinner through her tamale stand, but with her husband gone, she is too afraid to leave her home. The family has collapsed financially under the weight of a single raid, Mitchell said.
“Not only has she lost her business, but also her husband and the ability to give her family what they need to survive,” said Mitchell, an organizer with Community Coalition, the long-standing anti-violence and drug addiction group founded by now-Mayor Karen Bass in 1990.
In South L.A., where Los Angeles City Council Districts 8, 9, and 10 have transformed from predominantly Black to predominantly Latino, and where the highest percentages of undocumented residents in the city now live, Erica’s story is part of the new normal.
For some South Central residents, the raids have triggered economic and social catastrophes. During the first weeks of concentrated immigration enforcement, 465,000 fewer workers reported for work. One local business owner told the economic justice group Strategic Actions for a Just Economy that he’d lost 80% of his business in the first month of the ICE crackdown. Other shops across South Central and downtown lost business for weeks.
The raids are posing a new hurdle for Black and Latino families to pay rent in one of America’s most expensive cities. But they’ve also catalyzed Black neighbors to act.
“[Erica] is a member of our community, and she is afraid to come outside,” Mitchell said. “She is not alone, and that is why we’re helping with mutual aid.”
Immediately, that looked like bringing her family groceries and referring them to resources for free mental health care.
Community Coalition, known as CoCo, is training dozens of block captains to canvass their communities and coordinate food drop-offs, safety check-ins, and care referrals in real time. They’re organizing their neighbors around the threats facing everyone, regardless of their race or residency status.
The immediacy of this care network — 18 block captains now, with hopes to reach 28 — emerged after Erica’s abduction by ICE, according to Mitchell, who works for CoCo.
L.A. County’s Black residents — 20% of whom are immigrants or children of immigrants — are standing in solidarity with their Latino neighbors, saying they are part of a shared fight against over-policing and racialized violence. Nine out of 10 ICE arrests have been of Latinos.
“Seeing families torn apart is so reminiscent of the white supremacist playbook that we’ve seen historically in communities of color, and that starts with our Indigenous siblings to slavery and through these latest ICE raids,” Mitchell said.
Neighbors moved to action
Pamela Riley envisions her South Central neighborhood with all the resources it needs to thrive, but that starts at the block level, she said.
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On a quiet stretch of 92nd Street, Pamela Riley propped open her front gate around 8 a.m. For one Saturday in October, her front yard — one of the typical South Central flair caged in by a sagging iron gate — became the heartbeat of a block fighting back against abandonment.
Within minutes, her neighbors began to gather. Grandmothers sipped coffee, young mothers munched on donuts, and teenagers organized flyers printed in Spanish and English.
Just steps from the 110 freeway and the ghostly remains of shuttered shops and clinics, her community is forging new lines of solidarity amid chronic neglect and a deep need for connection. This is the new frontline in South Los Angeles, where a coalition of Black and Latino residents is launching a network of “Neighborhood Action Hubs” along the Vermont and Broadway corridors to keep mutual aid alive as official support shrinks.
The goal: to weave a grassroots shield against ICE crackdowns and social services cuts and offer a model for how neighbors, not institutions, can bridge fear and isolation.
“That blueprint of success is there. The road is paved, we just need to walk it together,” said Riley, a 64-year-old lifelong South Central resident.
Later that morning, as the sun tried to fight through the gloomy sky, a group of three of the women who showed up at Riley’s event — two Black, one Latina — passed the same mural-painted utility boxes and chain-link fences that mark so many South L.A. blocks. Old-school Chevys, some missing hubcaps, were parked next to pickups and battered minivans, while the sound of cumbia drifted from a doorway where a woman watered her agave under the music’s sway.
As they moved from house to house, the group stopped at gates and asked neighbors about the specific issues facing their blocks and individual households. At one, a longtime Latino immigrant, gray-haired and smiling, shared how she planned to vote in the now-passed November election.
Riley’s block has become a lot more quiet and less frequented since ICE raids began.
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Deeper onto the block, the canvassers encountered two undocumented migrants — one a young father, the other a middle-aged woman. The father spoke to tangible issues in the neighborhood: “People have started stealing car tires at night and cutting wires from light poles for quick money,” he said.
The mother spoke quietly about work drying up and more neighbors “laying low” as rumors of ICE sightings swept through the area. The Latina canvasser asked directly about food access and whether anyone still sold homemade snacks. The woman hesitated, then explained in Spanish that she stopped selling crepes out of fear.
The canvassers turned to the others and suggested a solution: organizing a block-wide food vendor party, so people could sell their products safely.
Walking farther, they found themselves cautiously welcomed by a Black city worker who had lived on the block for decades. She described losing sleep as the city’s racial demographics shifted and her worry about Black and Latino votes being split or erased.
At each stop, the canvassers handed out cards with voting information and explained how to register, where to find drop boxes, and how to access rapid response teams if ICE was spotted or the lights went out again.
“Solidarity is literally in L.A.’s DNA,” Mitchell said. “We know that when communities come together, we weather all kinds of storms — governmental, financial, whatever comes our way.”
L.A.’s long-history of racial coalitions
Neighborhood canvassers speak to a women. This specific Saturday, these two canvassers knocked on dozens of doors for over 2 hours.
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Riley said her memories are filled with better days: bustling shops, a hospital on 94th, neighbors who’d send their kids to college together. She has watched her neighborhood swing from prosperity to depression and now, uncertainty.
Today, Riley’s yard and days are devoted to strategizing — she and other block captains count names, rehearse response plans and dream of new “welcome to South Central L.A.” signs at every corner. During meetings, they talk about how, in other parts of the city, neighbors stand by each other in crisis; here, too, unity could mean survival. The terror of recent abductions — a beloved tamalera torn from her routine and dayworkers swiped off the streets — still haunts these blocks, sharpening every knock at the door.
“I grew up in a civil rights era of the ’60s, and I’m starting to realize this is the new era of civil rights,” Riley said, explaining that the attack on civil rights today has extended far beyond immigration raids. “It is requiring more from all of us.”
Having lived through what she considers broken promises following the devastation of the 1992 L.A. Riots, Riley said she understands that revival cannot rely on state intervention alone, and it bridges racial divides. Instead, she insists, “what’s going on in Washington DC is showing us we need to join together and support each other.”
It also reminds her of the power of community. During the 1992 protests against police brutality, Latinos constituted the largest portion of arrests despite making up a smaller percentage of the overall population at the time.
Dozens of volunteers began their Saturday at 9 a.m. to door knock.
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The roots of Black and Latino collaboration go back to the founding of L.A. itself, where 26 of the city’s 44 original settlers in 1781 were Black/Afro-Latino with Spanish surnames — establishing a tradition of mixed neighborhoods and joint political action. This foundation was later strengthened during the Great Migration and again throughout the 20th century, when Black and Latino residents forged working alliances in the face of shared exclusion from citywide power.
In recent decades, the demographic mix in South Central has shifted further. Where once the community was predominantly Black, Latino residents now form the majority. The change created new opportunities for solidarity, as well as challenges, especially after Latino L.A. City Council members were caught on tape using racist anti-Black language while discussing concerns about the political power of Black residents. The tapes reopened wounds over neighborhood displacement.
Today, the skepticism remains real for a lot of Black people in L.A. In June, a viral moment spread across the internet after Latino protesters hurled racial insults at a Black L.A. police officer.
“A significant number of Black folks don’t see this as their fight,” author and commentator Earl Ofari Hutchinson said after the protest in June. “They’ve seen anti-Blackness in Latino communities. They’ve felt left out when it came to our issues. That breeds skepticism.”
But “if anything, the debate over whether Blacks should link hands with Latino activists in the immigration battle seems age old,” Hutchinson wrote on his daily blog.
Hector Sanchez, CoCo’s Deputy Political Director, agreed.“It takes a lot of work. I’m not going to say it’s very easy … but it’s people that are willing to have those difficult conversations at times to ensure that we have each other’s back.”
Just a day after the city council tapes leaked, more than 400 people came together in Boyle Heights “to talk about the importance of multi-racial solidarity,” he said. Despite the tensions, neighbors continue fighting side by side for justice and belonging.
When canvassers could not get in contact with residents, they left behind these door hangers with a list of resources.
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In the years since, organizers have responded by promoting cross-cultural events, joint canvassing efforts, and language exchange programs. Language exchange workshops and “know your rights” sessions — alongside mutual aid deliveries — have become linchpins of the hub approach.
“We are not just helping Black folks, not just one population. It’s for all of us,” explained Sequarier McCoy, a 49-year-old lifelong L.A. resident.
“I grew up in a Black and Brown community,” she added. “I smelled Black-eyed peas, but I also smelled tortillas. I like corn on the cob and Esquites.”
McCoy is also acutely aware that the issues of migration, detention and deportation are far from just Latino issues. “It’s also for Dominican folks. It’s also for Belizean folks. It’s also for Caribbean folks,” she said. She said her partner, a Belizean migrant, is living in fear too.
Black undocumented migrants are deported at a rate four times more often than their numbers would suggest, according to an analysis of federal data by the Black Alliance for Just Immigration.
It is why this practical solidarity spans crises, organizers said. When SNAP benefits run dry, when an ICE van is spotted, or when a neighbor’s lights go out, the same phone trees and rapid response plans kick in.
“This work is an honor as a human being, not just as an activist,” McCoy said.
Eighth grader Leah created a sign with lyrics from Bad Bunny’s “LA MuDANZA,” a song that pays homage to the Puerto Rican artist's parents and his heritage. "He is ... showing how immigrants make America great, showing how immigrants are good for our communities," she said. "And that's really deep in my heart, being proud of where I'm from Mexico — Sonora, Obregón."
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Thousands more students joined walkouts on Friday to protest the Trump administration’s militarized crackdown on immigrants, detainment of children and violence against U.S. citizens protesting the raids.
Walkouts across the region: By mid-afternoon, nearly 12,500 students, from more than 85 schools in the Los Angeles Unified School District had walked out, according to a district spokesperson. Hundreds of students, from Pasadena and the greater San Gabriel Valley to Orange County, also marched in the community.
Why it matters: In conversation with LAist, multiple students said they live in fear of being separated from their families. They also worry that their parents could be mistreated if they are detained by federal agents.
Thousands more students joined walkouts Friday to protest the Trump administration’s militarized crackdown on immigrants, detainment of children and violence against U.S. citizens protesting the raids.
By mid-afternoon, nearly 12,500 students from more than 85 schools in the Los Angeles Unified School District had walked out, according to a district spokesperson. Hundreds of students in other districts — from Pasadena and the greater San Gabriel Valley to Orange County — also marched in their communities.
At Olive Vista Middle School in Sylmar, about 100 students—some as young as 11—walked out of their science, English, and math classes, then walked to a nearby park.
For many students, Friday’s walkout marks the first time they’ve ever participated in a protest. And after months of watching federal immigration agents violently detain people on social media, the students told LAist that protesting — on behalf of their communities and in honor of Renee Good and Alex Pretti — filled them with a sense of freedom and power.
Isaac, a seventh grader, walked out of science class.
“This felt like I was breaking out of some sort of chamber,” he told LAist. “I felt like I was being free for once.”
Many of the 12-year-old’s family members are from Mexico and he’s been worried about what could happen if they’re detained.
“I'm standing up for my family and my friends, our community, really,” he said. “The most we [can] do is what we're doing right now.”
After months of being scared every time his parents go to work, Isaac said the protest was a type of salve.
“It makes us feel better,” he said. “It makes us stronger.”
M, right, is a sixth grader at Olive Vista and organized the school's walkout.
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How to organize a middle school
A few weeks ago, M, an 11-year-old sixth grader at Olive Vista Middle School, asked her mom, Maritza Ocegueda, why students in Minnesota and elsewhere were walking out of school. LAist has agreed to refer to her solely by her first initial, after her mom raised concerns for her safety.
She made several lunchtime announcements about a walkout on Friday, Feb. 6 at 10:24 a.m.
“If you'd like to join, please come over here and if you have any questions, just ask me.”
Those announcements did not come easily to M, who is soft spoken and admittedly shy. “ I try to be the bravest I can,” she said. “ I want [my classmates] to understand how serious this [is] … [The federal government is not] letting people be themselves, like, they can't go to Home Depot without feeling unsafe.”
M, and several other students said some teachers and administrators discouraged their organizing. M said at one point she was pulled out of class for more than an hour to talk about the walkout.
“ One of the things I told the school [is] you dropped the ball because this is a learning moment,” Ocegueda said. However, she said she’s open to more conversations with school and district leaders on how to support students.
Maritza Ocegueda's daughter M organized Olive Vista Middle School's walkout. She said she's active in the community passing out food and clothes to unhoused neighbors and helping other people connect with resources.
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A Los Angeles Unified School District spokesperson provided a statement that said students were informed that walkouts are not school-sponsored, there are spaces on campus for students to exercise their freedom of speech and that they would be marked absent for missed class periods. A similar message was posted to the school’s Facebook page Thursday afternoon.
“Administrators routinely meet with students to share safety information and clarify options for on-campus expression—not to threaten or discipline,” the statement read. “Leaving campus during instructional time without permission is discouraged; that message is about safety and supervision, not suppressing speech.”
Middle and high school absences may be excused for engaging in a “civic or political event” with prior notice.
M said that other teachers were more supportive and helped her spread the word about the walkout to other students.
“ What I've learned is students should not have to come protest 'cause that's what the adults should be doing,” M said. “Adults should know better to help out the community and students should not have to come out.”
Honks of support
By mid-morning, students began to trickle out of Olive Vista.
As students joined the group of young activists, those already outside cheered and passing cars honked their horns in support. One SUV had a Mexican flag poking out of the sunroof.
Out by the curb, some of their parents, including M’s mom, were waiting. The adults encouraged the students to stick together and made sure the group waited for the light to turn before crossing the street to Sylmar Park.
" What's in my heart is that my parents are Mexican and I wanna support," said Jayden, an Olive Vista 6th grader.
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Once they gathered, the middle schoolers marched to a nearby park, carrying homemade signs and flags of Latin America.
One student turned to a friend and nervously quipped: “I just really hope we don’t get shot or tear gassed.”
‘They don't understand how much we love our parents.’
In conversation with LAist, multiple students said they live in fear of being separated from their families. They also worry that their parents could be mistreated if they are detained by federal agents.
Eleven-year-old Alejandro, for instance, usually goes to Sylmar Park to play baseball. Today, he said, he went to the protest to honor his mom and dad, Mexican immigrants from the states of Michoacán and Jalisco.
To critics who think he should have stayed in class, he said: “They don't understand how much we love our parents.”
“I just don't like how Donald Trump is calling us ‘animals,’ when we're the ones working our asses off to live paycheck to paycheck, while he's up there sitting in his chair throwing out orders at Kristi Noem,” said eighth-grader Jesús, referring to the Secretary of Homeland Security.
“The little boy who was captured with his little bunny hat, he was captured and he was sent to prison,” Jesús noted. “And that's just crazy, because how are you going to let a little kid inside a prison?”
The federal immigration activity in the San Fernando Valley has also left him feeling nervous, even when he is on campus. “I'm trying to study and then I just get reminded: maybe there's somebody waiting outside to take us.”
Sixth grader Sophia’ said she walked out for her grandmother who’s from Mexico. "I wanna represent our people and show that we aren't bad," Sophia said. "We are actually, like, a great community."
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As the students chanted and waved their signs, adults passed out snacks, water and pizza purchased with money donated from the community.
“They're here with clear intentions and they're here for a purpose,” said Michelle, the parent of another young protestor who requested LAist only use her first name. “I’m just proud of them.”
Families who need assistance regarding immigration, health, wellness, or housing can call LAUSD's Family Hotline: (213) 443-1300
M, the organizer, said she wouldn’t have used that term to describe herself before the protest.
“Now that I'm looking at myself, I do see myself as a helper,” M said. She plans to continue helping her community, for example by distributing food and clothes to unhoused neighbors.
And she has some advice for any aspiring student organizers.
“ I was a shy kid, so I want them to be brave and speak up,” M said.
She said she planned to finish up the day at school after she ate.
Gab Chabrán
covers what's happening in food and culture for LAist.
Published February 6, 2026 3:43 PM
The iconic King Taco sign at the original Cypress Park location, which opened in 1974 and is now being considered for historic-cultural monument designation.
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Topline: The original King Taco location in Cypress Park is being considered for historic-cultural monument status by the Cultural Heritage Commission, which would recognize its role in transforming Los Angeles' taco landscape and supporting Latino immigrant entrepreneurship.
Why it matters: King Taco helped establish the template for the modern L.A. taqueria — shifting the city's understanding of tacos from the hard-shell, Americanized version to soft tortillas filled with carne asada, carnitas and tacos al pastor. As the late food critic Jonathan Gold noted, King Taco "solidified what we all think of as the modern Los Angeles taco sensibility."
The backstory: Founder Raul Martinez launched King Taco from a converted ice cream truck in 1974, eventually opening the Cypress Park brick-and-mortar location that became the chain's flagship. The business grew to 24 locations across Southern California, becoming a model for immigrant entrepreneurship and establishing key Mexican dishes like tacos al pastor and carnitas as L.A. staples.
What's next: The Cultural Heritage Commission will determine whether King Taco's original location retains sufficient historic integrity and continues to convey its cultural significance. If approved, King Taco would become one of the few designated restaurant landmarks recognizing Latino culinary contributions.
Topline:
Topline: The original King Taco location in Cypress Park is being considered for historic-cultural monument status by the Cultural Heritage Commission, which would recognize its role in transforming Los Angeles' taco landscape and supporting Latino immigrant entrepreneurship.
Why it matters: King Taco helped establish the template for the modern L.A. taqueria — shifting the city's understanding of tacos from the hard-shell, Americanized version to soft tortillas filled with carne asada, carnitas and tacos al pastor. As the late food critic Jonathan Gold noted, King Taco "solidified what we all think of as the modern Los Angeles taco sensibility."
Why now: The nomination comes as part of the city's ongoing effort to recognize Latino cultural landmarks.
The backstory: Founder Raul Martinez launched King Taco from a converted ice cream truck in 1974, eventually opening the Cypress Park brick-and-mortar location that became the chain's flagship. The business grew to 24 locations across Southern California, becoming a model for immigrant entrepreneurship and establishing key Mexican dishes like tacos al pastor and carnitas as L.A. staples.
What's next: The Cultural Heritage Commission will determine whether King Taco's original location retains sufficient historic integrity and continues to convey its cultural significance. If approved, King Taco would become one of the few designated restaurant landmarks recognizing Latino culinary contributions.
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Matt Dangelantonio
directs production of LAist's daily newscasts, shaping the radio stories that connect you to SoCal.
Published February 6, 2026 3:36 PM
Yasiel Puig looks on from the dugout during the 2018 World Series. He was found guilty Friday of lying to federal prosecutors about bets he placed on sporting events through an illegal bookmaking operation.
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Former Dodger Yasiel Puig was found guilty today of lying to federal investigators about betting on sports through an illegal bookmaking operation.
The backstory: Puig was convicted on one count of obstruction of justice and one count of making false statements. The charges stem from a January 2022 interview he did with federal investigators who were looking into an illegal gambling operation. Federal prosecutors say during the interview, Puig lied about knowing a bookie named Donny Kadokawa, whom Puig texted sports bets to place with the illegal operation. When showed a copy of a cashier's check he used to pay off some of his gambling debt, prosecutors say Puig doubled down and said he didn't know the person who told him to send the money.
How it started: Federal prosecutors said that in May 2019, Puig began placing bets through Kadokawa, who worked for an illegal gambling operation out of Newport Coast. By June, they say he'd racked up nearly $283,000 in gambling debts. That same month, Puig withdrew $200,000 and bought another $200,000 in cashiers checks to pay off his debt so he could get access to gambling websites run by the illegal operation and place his bets himself. Prosecutors say Puig placed 899 bets between July and September of 2019, some of them at MLB ballparks before and after games in which he played. In the process, Puig ran up more debt, this time to the tune of $1 million dollars. He never paid it off.
What's next: Puig faces up to 20 years in prison if given the maximum sentence.
President Donald Trump's harsh immigration tactics are taking a political hit as new polls show a majority of Americans feel federal agents have "gone too far" in enforcing immigration laws. And it's not just Democrats who are concerned, but also independent voters who are expected to play a major role in the upcoming midterm elections.
Why it matters: After months of aggressive enforcement, Trump's signature issue that twice got him elected is now turning into a liability ahead of this year's midterm elections.
The context: The outcry over what many saw as militant tactics hit a fever pitch after the second fatal shooting of a U.S. citizen by immigration officers in Minnesota.
What the numbers say: A new NPR/Marist poll shows that six in 10 Americans disapprove of the job federal immigration agents are doing. Even typically loyal Republican supporters have called on the Trump administration to make changes and rebuild trust with law enforcement.
It's not just Democrats who are concerned, but also independent voters who are expected to play a major role in the upcoming midterm elections.
"The base loves it, but it's an issue for the independent voters who decide elections in this country," said Alex Conant, a veteran Republican strategist. "Independents want a strong border and they want to deport criminals, but they're really uneasy with having masked federal agents going around in neighborhoods, deporting anyone that they see — as the Democrats are portraying it."
After months of aggressive enforcement, Trump's signature issue that twice got him elected is now turning into a liability ahead of this year's midterm elections.
The outcry over what many saw as militant tactics hit a fever pitch after the second fatal shooting of a U.S. citizen by immigration officers in Minnesota.
A new NPR/Marist poll shows that six in 10 Americans disapprove of the job federal immigration agents are doing.
Even typically loyal Republican supporters have called on the Trump administration to make changes and rebuild trust with law enforcement.
"They, being the White House, need to recalibrate on what needs to be done to make sure that that respect is going to be re-instilled," Texas Gov. Greg Abbott told conservative radio host Mark Davis.
Trump shook up the leadership of the Minneapolis operation, and directed his team to withdraw 700 federal officers.
"I learned that, maybe we can use a little bit of a softer touch," Trump said in an interview with NBC's Tom Llamas. "But you still have to be tough. We're dealing with really hard criminals."
It's a bit unclear what a "softer touch" actually means.
Press Secretary Karoline Leavitt largely defended the administration's enforcement efforts Thursday and pointed to different polling — from a Harvard/Harris survey — that she said showed support for their "deportation agenda."
"Nearly eight in 10 Americans say criminal illegal aliens should be deported," she said. "A solid majority also support deporting all illegal aliens, regardless of additional crimes."
She also said the administration is now prioritizing criminals who are in the country illegally.
Theresa Cardinal Brown, who worked on immigration policy under two presidents George W. Bush and Barack Obama, said there may be an "operational pause" as the administration retools its efforts, both from a policy standpoint and a public relations standpoint.
"Operationally, you're not really thinking about politics as you're putting together an operation, said Brown, now a member of the Council on National Security and Immigration. "But politics comes into everything, right?"
She points to the announcement that body cameras would be deployed to federal immigration officers in Minneapolis, noting that while video can uncover when officers are doing something wrong, body cameras can also vindicate officers when they have done the right thing.
"I do think that probably the administration is thinking, 'Well, if we had body cam footage of our own, we could put our own perspective on it,' " she said.
Trump has a big incentive to get a handle on this crisis — and to do so quickly.
Conant, who previously worked on Marco Rubio's 2016 presidential campaign, said Trump has left an opening for Democrats to sound more reasonable on immigration ahead of the midterms.
"If he loses the immigration issue as a political winner, it's a real political problem," Conant said, "not just for Trump, but Republicans more broadly."
