The Brief

The Trump administration is looking to build an immigration detention facility at Travis Air Force Base in Fairfield, California, and pushing to speed up a review process, according to internal government communications obtained by KQED.

The proposed installation is part of an aggressive effort to expand immigration detention nationally, and specifically to use property owned by the U.S. Department of Defense in service of President Donald Trump’s stated goal of deporting 1 million people in his first year in office.

In the early April emails, federal officials discussed efforts to evaluate several military installations, including Travis Air Force Base, for Homeland Security’s immigration detention and removal operations — and tee them up for approval by Defense Secretary Pete Hegseth.

The emails show significant coordination among Department of Defense and Homeland Security officials to expedite the plans. The emails do not describe the scope or design of the proposed detention compound at Travis Air Force Base, nor how many people it would be expected to hold.

A spokesperson for U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement did not respond directly to questions about Travis Air Force Base, but he did affirm that ICE is actively working to expand detention capacity.

“While we cannot confirm individual pre-decisional conversations, we can confirm that ICE is exploring all options in California to meet its current and future detention requirements, which include new detention facilities and possible support from partner agencies,” a written statement from the agency said.

Officials at Travis Air Force Base declined to comment, and the Department of Defense did not respond to KQED’s request for comment by press time.

Homeland Security officials have been considering at least 10 military bases around the country for immigration detention, NPR has reported. A February Homeland Security memo obtained by NPR described a plan to use Fort Bliss, near El Paso, Texas, as a model for other facilities, with up to 1,000 people initially detained there, eventually expanding to as many as 10,000.

A U.S. Air Force C-5 Galaxy and a C-17 Globemaster sit on the tarmac at Travis Air Force Base in Fairfield, California, on July 17, 2008.

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Saul Loeb

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The revelation that Travis is on the list of military facilities came as a shock to East Bay Rep. John Garamendi, a Democrat and senior member of the House Armed Services Committee whose district includes the Fairfield base.

“Travis Air Force Base is absolutely inappropriate for an immigration detention facility,” Garamendi told KQED. “Travis has a critical national security role of providing worldwide transportation services for personnel and material around the world. An immigration facility would significantly hamper the national security work that Travis is responsible for.”

Earlier this year, Garamendi and other members of Congress raised strenuous opposition when military aircraft from the base — C-17 planes typically meant for troops or cargo — were used for deportation flights to remove immigrants from the country.

“Just in terms of the cost factor, to say nothing of the readiness, every time you take a military aircraft and you use it for purposes that are not directly related to the national security work, that degrades the ability of the military to do what it’s supposed to do,” he said.

Meanwhile, a plan to use the U.S. naval base at Guantanamo Bay, Cuba, to detain as many as 30,000 immigrants appears to have been scaled back drastically in the face of obstacles, including public outcry over the $40 million price tag to lock up a couple of hundred men during its first month of operation.

ICE is currently holding nearly 48,000 immigrants in detention facilities nationwide. Last year, ICE’s detention capacity was 41,500 beds. However, last month, Congress added $430,000 to ICE’s current-year detention budget, allowing the agency to increase capacity to 54,500 beds.

The number of detention beds is one factor limiting the Trump administration’s ability to increase deportations. ICE would also need to increase staffing and other resources, beyond last year’s $3.4 billion detention budget, which advocates say was already a historic high. The administration is looking to the Republican-controlled Congress to vastly expand the Homeland Security budget, and the New York Times has reported that ICE has already solicited proposals from contractors worth as much as $45 billion for the next two years.

A KC-10 Extender is parked on the ramp as a C-5M Super Galaxy takes off at Travis Air Force Base, California, March 16, 2017.

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Previous administrations have used military bases to temporarily house arriving refugees and have deployed soldiers to provide logistical support to the U.S. Border Patrol. But the plan to use Travis and other military facilities for ICE detention represents a more substantial move toward militarizing immigration enforcement.

Trump’s “border czar,” Tom Homan, has called the Department of Defense a “force multiplier” for his deportation plans.

However, Jehan Laner, a senior staff attorney at the Immigrant Legal Resource Center in San Francisco, argues that using military bases for ICE detention violates the Posse Comitatus Act, a 19th-century law that limits the use of military personnel to enforce domestic policies within the U.S.

“Our country is kind of turning toward authoritarianism when you have the military starting to do civil law enforcement,” she said. “It becomes a very scary prospect.”

This story was originally published by The LA Local on Feb. 25, 2026.

As federal immigration enforcement raids continue across Los Angeles, a broader demographic of people is stepping up to volunteer their time to monitor and document immigration raids in their neighborhoods, according to Ron Gochez, organizer with the rapid‑response network Unión del Barrio.

“We have senior citizen retirees showing up saying, ‘I’m an old white woman — how can I help?’ We have students from community colleges and universities. We have people who look like longtime activists and people who look like they’ve never done this before,” he said. “It’s solidarity being shown by Angelenos of all shapes, sizes, colors and ages.”

While longtime Latino organizers have led the patrols, their numbers are growing thanks to the new volunteers who aren’t necessarily Latino.

Unión del Barrio has outgrown their usual meeting space at the United Teachers union building in Koreatown, which used to draw a few dozen people.

Along with their patrols, the group supports families impacted by immigration raids and issues real-time alerts over social media.

In late January, the day after federal agents shot and killed Alex Pretti in Minneapolis, about 400 people showed up for a training session, Unión del Barrio organizer Ron Gochez said.

“The very next day, we had 1,000 people on a Zoom training for educators — and we couldn’t have more because the Zoom limit was 1,000,” Gochez said.

Organizers in Pasadena expected a few dozen volunteers at All Saints Episcopal Church and were surprised when nearly 800 showed up for the training session, according to Pasadena Now.

For the first time, the majority of volunteers at a recent training session were white, Gochez said.

“I think the administration and ICE thought that by killing Alex (Pretti), that people would be scared and intimidated and would stop participating,” he said.

Instead, it has had the opposite effect.

Other immigrant advocacy groups say they’re seeing a similar surge in support. Representatives at the Coalition for Humane Immigrant Rights (CHIRLA) and the Immigrant Defenders Law Center report a spike in volunteers, donations, and attendance at “Know Your Rights” workshops.

The legal advocacy group says they’re going to continue sustaining deportation defense, managed information hotlines, and expect that engagement to remain strong as federal immigration enforcement intensifies.

Ron Gochez, a member of Unión del Barrio, speaks to volunteers in South Los Angeles in February 2025.

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Boyle Heights Beat

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Residents living near Koreatown and Pico Union have seen a sharp increase in immigration raids in recent months. Unión del Barrio volunteer, Oscar, who provided only his first name out of concerns over retaliation from the federal government, has seen firsthand the effects of the raids.

“This part of Los Angeles — Pico Union, K-town, MacArthur Park, Westlake — has been hit incredibly hard throughout the last year,” Oscar said, pointing to raids along the El Salvador Community Corridor in Pico Union. “They’ve gone up and down Pico multiple times.”

Westlake, a dense immigrant neighborhood predominantly made up of renters and noncitizen workers, has also been identified as one of the most vulnerable areas in L.A. to ICE raids, according to a county-sponsored study.

Oscar leads patrol training sessions, but before joining Union del Barrio, he patrolled his neighborhood with a friend to report on immigration enforcement. “It just didn’t feel like enough,” he said. “I wanted to be part of a space of dedicated organizers.”

Overall, he’s seen more people working together across racial and gender lines, with a common goal of protecting their communities, helping deliver groceries to impacted famlies, monitor their neighborhoods and feel like they have something to do in the face of the ongoing immigration raids.

Immigration agents detain a man selling flowers in Boyle Heights on Wednesday, Jan. 28, 2026.

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“People are coming in angry, determined,” he said. “but ultimately I think people feel empowered during the training.”

Unión del Barrio has expanded beyond its usual territory in South Los Angeles and the group now patrols in Boyle Heights, Long Beach, the San Fernando Valley, Beverly Hills and Brentwood, Gochez said.

“We have eyes and ears everywhere,” Gochez said. “I’m very comfortable saying there are thousands of people patrolling in the greater L.A. area.”

Although the group rarely solicits donations, Gochez said they have seen an uptick in funding, which helps cover costs from patrolling and printing “Know Your Rights” flyers and other materials.

Despite the heightened attention, Unión del Barrio has not altered its training curriculum, making sure that volunteers are following the law, but also aware that their safety is not guaranteed when they head out to monitor the immigration raids.

Organizers strongly discourage undocumented individuals or those on probation or parole from participating in community patrols, instead encouraging them to contribute in other ways.

“We’re not trying to become martyrs,” Gochez said. “We don’t want to be arrested, beaten or killed. But there is risk involved.”

The L.A. City Council voted unanimously Tuesday to make permanent a city pilot program that diverts police away from some mental health crisis calls.

Since launching in 2024, clinicians with the city’s Unarmed Model of Crisis Response have handled more than 17,000 calls for service, ranging from mental health crises to wellbeing checks. According to city reports, about 96% of those calls were resolved without police.

“We can’t keep deploying armed officers to handle mental health crisis calls because the outcome is Angelenos paying with loss of life and millions of their tax dollars for legal settlements,” Councilmember Eunisses Hernandez, who co-authored the motion to enshrine the program, said at Tuesday’s meeting.

According to Hernandez, in 2023, more than a third of LAPD shootings involved someone experiencing a mental health crisis.

Councilmember Marqueece Harris-Dawson said the data from city reports was "incontrovertible and unassailable," showing the program’s success at diverting police and fire first responders away from mental health crisis situations.

Council members said the move to make the unarmed model permanent was also a matter of fiscal responsibility. According to a news release from the offices of Hernandez and Councilmember Bob Blumenfield, on average it costs the city roughly $85 per hour to dispatch LAPD officers, while a response from a UMCR team costs roughly $35 per hour.

Last fall, progressive policy advocacy group LA Forward, convened a summit of local and state officials with the goal of making UMCR permanent and expanding it.

Godfrey Plata, deputy director of LA Forward, told LAist his group was “incredibly excited” to see the city make the pilot program permanent.

Plata said he sees enshrining the program as a first step in expanding the program citywide, which his group hopes to do by the 2028 Olympics.

How the program works

In 2024, the city partnered with three nonprofit organizations — Exodus Recovery, Alcott Center and Penny Lane Centers — to provide teams of trained clinicians in service areas spread across L.A. The teams are available 24 hours a day, seven days a week within the Police Department’s Devonshire, Wilshire, Southeast, West LA, Olympic and West Valley divisions.

Crisis response workers are trained in de-escalation techniques, mental health, substance use, conflict resolution and more, according to a report on the program from the Office of City Administrative Officer. The teams don’t have the authority to order psychiatric holds for people in crisis, but they can work with them to find help locally, and spend more time on follow up than law enforcement can.

In its first year, Los Angeles’s Unarmed Model of Crisis Response sent teams of unarmed clinicians to  more than 6,700 calls for service, ranging from mental health crises to wellbeing checks. Only about 4% were redirected to the LAPD. Average response times have been under 30 minutes.

Examples of these interactions include members of the teams taking food to a woman who was crying and hungry, working with a business owner to engage with someone sleeping in a parking lot and sitting with a family for nearly three hours to help resolve a conflict involving a relative.

What’s next

The motion approved Tuesday also directs city officials to form a working group made up of the LAPD, the L.A. Fire Department and other agencies to address inefficiencies in the dispatch system. The goal of the working group will be to centralize unarmed crisis response dispatch and improve response times.

On a Friday afternoon on a quiet suburban block in Lakewood, the only sign that something special is happening is a small handwritten chalkboard with a small Peruvian flag and an American flag placed nearby, listing the day's specials — Papa Rellena, Aji de Pollo, Lomo Saltado. This is Lomo Fuego, a fully licensed Peruvian restaurant operating out of a family home, and it's part of a quietly growing movement reshaping how Los Angeles defines a restaurant.

The only sign you'll find outside Lomo Fuego — a handwritten chalkboard on a quiet Lakewood lawn

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LAist

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Since launching in January 2019, L.A. County's Microenterprise Home Kitchen Operation (MEHKO) program has issued more than 200 permits, transforming residential kitchens into licensed restaurants.

Lomo Fuego's founder is Heidi Randolph, a Peruvian immigrant and former interior designer who left her career to be closer to home. With a new mortgage and no income, she found an unlikely business partner in her brother — a trained chef who had just arrived from Peru — and an idea: turn the backyard into a restaurant. Her husband, William Armando Rios, a truck driver, had his doubts, but Randolph pushed forward anyway.

Randolph wanted to do things right, so she called the city of Lakewood. They told her it was impossible. She kept researching anyway and eventually found MEHKO.

What Is MEHKO?

MEHKO — short for Microenterprise Home Kitchen Operation — is a program administered by the L.A. County Department of Public Health that allows residents to run licensed food businesses from their primary residences. No commercial kitchen required, no landlord to answer to. Operators are capped at 30 meals a day and $100,000 in gross annual revenue — guardrails designed to keep the businesses appropriately scaled to a residential setting, but also the kind that make brick-and-mortar the natural next step for a thriving operation.

The permit process, she says, was surprisingly accessible.

Her total startup investment came in under $2,000 — a fraction of the $30,000 to $40,000 it typically costs to open even a modest commercial kitchen.

"My savings from my previous job helped me, and my husband supported me in everything — in the beginning, he was like, what are you doing? But he believed in me."

Luis, Fritz, and Heidi Randolph — the family behind Lomo Fuego in Lakewood.

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Finding their footing

Starting a restaurant is never easy, especially when it’s in your backyard.

Randolph said the early days were filled with uncertainty, when she'd find herself cooking only to have nobody come, leftovers piling up, credit cards creeping toward their limits, social media posts going largely unnoticed. She pushed through anyway.

Luis, Heidi Randolph's brother and head chef, along with their mother Fritz, preps for service in the Lomo Fuego kitchen

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"You just have to be patient — posting on Facebook Marketplace, Instagram, TikTok. Little by little, it started getting somewhere," she said.

The turning point came from an unexpected source. Cook Alliance, a nonprofit that works alongside the county to support MEHKO operators, reached out and offered to connect Randolph with an influencer. The creator, from the account LA OC Eats, came out and shot a video.

Overnight, everything changed.

"It was a line of people outside — way outside," she said.

Neighbors, to Randolph's relief, couldn't have been more supportive.

Behind the scenes, it's a true family affair — Randolph's brother handles the bulk of the cooking while her mother, Fritz, who still works as a housekeeper at the VA on her days off, pitches in wherever she's needed. The family has since brought on additional kitchen and waitstaff to keep up with demand. It's exactly the kind of scene Randolph had always envisioned.

The Jungle, the Germans and Aji amarillo

To understand Lomo Fuego’s menu, you have to understand where Heidi Randolph comes from.

Randolph grew up in Oxapampa, a small town in Peru's high jungle — tucked into the Pasco region about five hours east of Lima, where the Andes begin their descent toward the Amazon — founded by German and Austrian immigrants in the mid-1800s. It helps explain why the menu at Lomo Fuego includes schnitzel and a plantain-based strudel alongside the lomo saltado.

Lomo Saltado Pobre at Lomo Fuego — the dish that started it all, served with rice, fries, fried plantains, and a fried egg.

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LAist

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Peruvian cuisine has long absorbed outside influences — Chinese laborers brought the wok and soy sauce that make lomo saltado possible, and the stir-fried noodle dish Tallarín Saltado is essentially Peru's answer to lo mein, so deeply rooted in Chinese cooking it belongs to its own culinary tradition known as Chifa.

Being the ever-curious food writer that I am, I passed on many of the well-known dishes and went straight for the daily specials, landing on the Aji de Gallina — a stewed chicken dish built around ají amarillo, the foundational "soul" of Peruvian cuisine. Alongside garlic and red onion, it forms what many cooks consider the holy trinity of Peruvian cooking. The pepper itself is deceptively complex — fruity, vibrant, and slightly sweet, with tropical notes and a moderate heat that never overwhelms. In Randolph's version, it announces itself immediately through its creamy textures, highlighted by the savoriness of the stewed chicken with chunks of boiled potatoes and white rice.

Seco de Res con Frijoles at Lomo Fuego — tender beef braised in chicha de jora and cilantro, served with canario beans and white rice.

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LAist

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I also tried the Seco de Res con Frijoles, which tells a different story — tender beef braised in chicha de jora, an ancient Andean corn beer once consumed ceremonially during Inca religious festivals. With a sauce built on cilantro and ají amarillo, it’s served over white rice and canario beans, a Peruvian staple prized for its creamy, buttery texture. It's a dish that wears its history openly, with Spanish, African, and Indigenous traditions folded into every bite.

Pull up a chair

One of the things I noticed about dining at Lomo Fuego was its intimacy — eating in someone's backyard has a way of softening people. I arrived right when they opened, and soon thereafter, families of all ages stopped by, along with coworkers grabbing lunch and a neighbor checking in on an upcoming catering order.

Aji de Gallina at Lomo Fuego — shredded chicken in a creamy aji amarillo sauce, topped with a hard boiled egg

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LAist

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"Seeing the people excited when they have that first bite — that's what motivates me every day," she said.

Outgrowing the Backyard

Lomo Fuego has grown beyond what Randolph ever imagined when she was cooking in a void in those early days. She's now pursuing a loan and scouting locations for a brick-and-mortar restaurant — the natural next step for a MEHKO kitchen that has outgrown its backyard. But she's clear about what she's taking with her.

"I hope in the future people can say, this still tastes like food from home."