The City of Angels Stands up Against ICE Raids
A crowd gathered at City Hall in Downtown LA. I worked my way up the street, where a group of protesters faced off with police officers, many on horseback, the others pointing guns, loaded with rubber bullets. The people yelled chants like, “Peaceful Protest, Peaceful Protest,” many carrying signs reading, “ICE Out of LA.” I was caught off-guard when the police suddenly started shooting and the horses began to charge the crowd. Back peddling, I lost my balance and ended up on my back. With my camera backpack weighing me down, and my camera in hand, I was like a turtle flipped on its shell, helplessly grabbing at the air. Suddenly, as the horses closed in, a protester with a mask, only revealing his eyes, appeared above me and pulled me to my feet. This was just one of the many times that I witnessed the LAPD using unnecessary force on people simply exercising their right to protest.
In early June, President Trump increased immigration enforcement nation-wide, setting a goal of 3,000 arrests a day. Los Angeles, which is about 50 percent Latino, and has an estimated undocumented population of over 800,000 people, was suddenly hit by military-style ICE raids, sending waves of shock and terror throughout local communities. The raids targeted an apparel factory, Home Depots, car washes and restaurants. Kids were being taken out of school by worried parents, businesses were closing their doors, and many people stayed home, fearing that they would be abducted by ICE, never to return to the life they had built in the City of Angels.
As the arrests continued, anger spread like fire and people took to the streets of Downtown LA, chanting “No Justice, No Peace,” and “Chinga la Migra.” The protests continued to intensify and Trump called in the National Guard, throwing gasoline on the fire. I decided to document the protests, first on my own, and then on assignment for European newspapers. I spent an intense four days covering the protests, including the No Kings march on June 14.
Immediately apparent was the sense of pride the protesters held in their hearts. They were standing up for their mothers, their fathers, their neighbors, their community, people who had been here for years, some decades, and simply saying, no, we will not let this happen in our communities. “Whose streets? Our streets!”
On Monday, June 9, a sea of people gathered in front of the Federal building waving Mexican Flags, American flags, and flags that were “miti-miti,” half American, half Mexican. The National Guard, with stunned looks on their young faces, peered through their plastic face shields as they were being berated by the protesters. But in the afternoon, the sound of Mariachi music overpowered the scene, as a Mariachi sang at the top of her lungs and the crowd joined in, demonstrating the power of music to unite a people. Suddenly the protest had turned festive.
There were several other moments that gave me hope. One of them happened right in front of City Hall. I was up at the top of the stairs, photographing the people gathered below, when a young Latina woman began yelling at a police officer. I started getting nervous when he approached her. The police officer, who was also Latino, bent down to shake her hand, and I couldn’t believe what I heard. The two of them were saying, “I love you,” to each other. Shocked, I approached her after the miracle moment. “Brown is brown,” she said smiling, seemingly touched by the interaction, “It’s his job.” And then she walked back into the crowd of protesters.
