Federal immigration raids in LA started a year ago. They left a permanent mark on many

A year ago, the Trump administration launched a deportation campaign that would leave an indelible mark on L.A. County.

On the morning of June 6, masked federal immigration agents targeted a Home Depot in Westlake, where day laborers were gathered to solicit construction work. About 3 miles east, more masked agents descended on Ambiance Apparel, a fast-fashion warehouse in downtown Los Angeles.

At both locations, Angelenos witnessed workers getting handcuffed and hauled away. For some, those workers were friends, siblings, spouses or parents.

Purportedly meant to remove criminals from the country, federal immigration officials would go on to arrest more than 14,000 people in the greater Los Angeles area in 2025 — the majority of whom had no criminal record, according to an LAist analysis of recent data from the Deportation Data Project.

These detentions, and the ones that followed, ignited sweeping marches and community activism. Met with occasional violent resistance, the federal government deployed active-duty military personnel to the region.

So far, the mass deportation effort has left the following in its wake:

• In Ladera Heights, a food vendor clung to a tree to avoid being taken by federal agents. When they hauled her away, she was still wearing her work apron.
• In the San Fernando Valley, a high school senior took his dog for a walk and did not come home. A neighbor said she saw four men in tactical vests standing near unmarked SUVs shortly after the teenager was detained.
• In Monrovia, a 52-year-old day laborer who worked to support his wife and four daughters died after being struck by an SUV on the freeway. He was attempting to flee a raid at a local Home Depot. 

Families who were suddenly left without their breadwinners struggle to pay their rent. Asylum seekers are detained at routine check-ins. A record number of immigrants have died in civil detention. Many U.S. citizens of color now carry their passports to move about town. Federal agents have detained scores of citizens — sometimes for days. And, to date, more than 200,000 children have been separated from their parents. 

Trump’s mass deportation effort, first tested in Bakersfield, has been escalated to other cities: This includes Chicago, where federal agents killed Silverio Villegas-González, a 38-year-old single father, and almost killed Marimar Martinez, a Montessori school teaching assistant. Then, in Minneapolis, federal agents shot and killed Renee Good and Alex Pretti. The federal government branded Martinez, Good and Pretti — all U.S. citizens — as “domestic terrorists” and accused them of trying to harm officers.

Eeking out a living in the raids’ aftermath

In downtown L.A.’s once-bustling fashion district, business hasn't bounced back. LAist spoke with multiple workers in the area. They declined to share their names for fear of reprisal.

Since the raid at Ambiance, “it hasn’t been the same,” said a worker at a nearby shop. She works at a party supply store specializing in piñatas and embroidered graduation stoles. She’s always waiting for the other shoe to drop, she said.

“[One feels] insecure because you never know how the day is going to go,” the worker told LAist.

At Ambiance Apparel, around the block, an employee estimated a massive loss of income for the store, as much as 50%. (The store did not immediately respond to requests for comment.)

That same effect has played out at small businesses all over the county. Neighborhoods that were hit hard by immigration raids — including Boyle Heights, Echo Park and Westlake, along with southeast L.A. cities like Bell, Pico Rivera and South Gate — report less customer traffic and reduced daily sales.

Angelenos, including workers' family members, gather in front of Ambiance Apparel after several employees were taken into custody by federal agents last summer.

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Genaro Molina

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Getty Images

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Since last June, the Home Depot in Westlake has been targeted for raids at least four times. Even so, day laborers still mill about the home improvement megastore’s parking lot, soliciting construction work from homeowners and contractors.

One worker, a 39-year-old from Guatemala who declined to give his name, said he witnessed the raid last year but managed to get away. He was frightened, he told LAist, but he still came back to work the next day; he has five children to support, including one studying to become a nurse.

“Ni modo, hay que comer,” he said, noting that people need money to eat. “Siempre hay necesidad.”

The reality, he said, is that he’s defenseless if agents were to show up again. Despite his own situation, he feels for the other workers around him.

“Es muy triste,” he said. “Están luchando por sus hijos, para seguir adelante” — “It’s really sad. They’re fighting for their children, to get ahead.”

Finding strength in community  

Beyond the marches last summer, Angelenos continue to find ways to support local immigrant communities. Some have offered to buy groceries for those who struggle to make ends meet or are simply scared to leave their homes. Others have volunteered to give their neighbors rides to school or work. Several regions have organized community patrols to warn about the presence of federal agents.

Activism has not eluded younger generations. At high schools and middle schools across the county, students have walked out of class in protest.

At Olive Vista Middle School in Sylmar, about 100 students left their science, English and math classes earlier this year. To critics who thought they should have stayed inside, 11-year-old Alejandro said: “They don't understand how much we love our parents.”

Across the U.S., detained immigrants themselves are engaging in activism. From Delaney Hall in New Jersey to Adelanto in California, people inside ICE detention centers have launched hunger strikes to expose conditions they describe as unsafe and inhumane. The Department of Homeland Security insists there are no hunger strikes at these facilities, and that detainees get “three meals a day, medical care, and receive full due process.”

Lázaro, one of the fathers who were arrested during the raid at Ambiance Apparel last summer, returned to the site this year, accompanied by other former detainees and their family members. (Lázaro also declined to share his last name for fear of reprisal and to protect his family.)

Lázaro gave a speech outside of Ambiance Apparel, one year after being detained by federal immigration agents.

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Julia Barajas

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LAist

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After Lázaro and his coworkers were detained, their loved ones banded together to form a grassroots organization called Lucha Zapoteca, in honor of their indigenous heritage. The group pooled their resources together to pay for legal counsel and ultimately secured the release of at least 10 people from immigrant detention.

On the anniversary of the raid, he gave a speech outside the warehouse.

“Our Indigenous communities have survived generations of displacement, violence and forced migration," he said in Spanish. "Our resilience did not start with this raid, and it will not end here. We remain steadfast in our demand to end all detentions and deportation, free all detainees and ensure that no family has to endure the pain that ours have experienced.”

Ming Tanigawa-Lau is a staff attorney at Immigrant Defenders Law Center, a nonprofit that represents three of the people detained at Ambiance Apparel.

Compared to last year, she said, the raids “seem to have slowed down," but her nonprofit's hotline is still teeming with calls from desperate family members. "People are still being arrested all the time," she said. "We need to keep up with the community response."

The Coalition for Humane Immigrant Rights has also planned a slew of L.A. events during the months of June and July to draw attention to the raids’ impact on local families — and to the unique challenges faced by certain workers, including car washers and custodians.

“A year after the cruel immigration surge that shook all Angelenos, our message is clear: Fear did not defeat us, cruelty did not divide us, and militarization did not silence us,” said executive director Angelica Salas in an email. “We remember, we resist, and we recommit ourselves to the struggle for justice, dignity and the humanity of every Angeleno.”