"Every time I leave home I wonder if I'll ever return or if Immigration will stop me."

SPECIAL ENVOY TO LOS ANGELESThe midday sun filters into the restaurant through the half-lowered blinds. The owner, a Cuban woman in her forties, rushes to dispatch the customers who have finished eating while the waitresses clear the tables. "I've got the bill for you. We have a meeting." staff and we have to close for half an hour," says Carmen García (a fictitious name to preserve anonymity). Of the 16 workers at this business in the Westlake neighborhood of Los Angeles, 13 are undocumented. Five blocks away, about a 15-minute walk, is the Home Depot where Immigration agents raided last Friday. "Things are getting really ugly, so today I decided to hold a meeting with the girls to prepare a plan of action if ICE arrives." last week sparked the protests, which take to the streets of downtown every night. Despite the riots, ICE's actions have only intensified, and raids on businesses, churches, and parking lots have become part of daily life. migrants in Los Angeles. The intensification of ICE actions is a response to internal unrest in the White House, which sees howthe number of daily expulsions has fallencompared to the numbers of his predecessor, Joe Biden. To fulfill the promise of the largest "mass deportation in history," ICE was ordered to expand the focus of the raids at the end of May.

"On Friday, when the Home Depot raid happened, one of the girls called me crying to come close the restaurant. I took them to their house myself, because now they also look for people on public transportation. And if we didn't have enough with the migration [the name that the Latino community gives to the immigration police], the stupid Trump has even sent us the National Guard to protect them," complains Carmen. The military corps has been escorting the Immigration agents' operations these days.

The restaurant was opened by Carmen's mother in 1986, after leaving Cuba and after many years of working. They had been looking for a better life. The women who work here have come for the same reason. They have the right to improve their lives. I have never seen a scenario as extreme as the raids these days. It's a nightmare."

Carmen can only remember a similar episode, years ago: "They started arresting people in the street. Luckily, at that time, the city's taxis got organized and with the walkie-talkies They warned where ICE was. Now with the Ubers This is no longer possible." She's considering paying for taxis for her employees to take them directly from the restaurant to their homes, and the prospect of the National Guard and ICE being deployed for up to sixty days has her starting to think of a plan. "For now, I've started closing the restaurant earlier just in case, and I have to calculate how many days I can keep it closed. I'm considering closing the patio and only leaving the inside skate open, so if they see ICE coming, they can close the restaurant quickly. They can't get in without a warrant. I need them to feel safe."

"Every night I call my son so he knows I haven't been detained."

Sulma Edelmira López Ortiz is one of the thirteen undocumented employees at the establishment. She still wears her apron and hairnet. "With everything going on, I try to go out as little as possible. Every time I leave the house, I wonder if I'll ever come back or if ICE will stop me. To get here, I have to take two buses, and when I'm at the bus stop, I can't help but wonder if someone there is an ICE agent in civilian clothes. Plus, you have to appear calm to avoid raising suspicions," she explains. She's considering stopping taking public transportation and going with a Uber to avoid risks.

The Sulma arrived in the United States two years ago hidden inside the trunk of a bus in the city of Roma, Texas. coyotes The migrants who helped her cross into Los Angeles charged her $20,400 for the trip. "I've considered not coming to work, but I can't afford it. I have no savings and I have to keep paying debt, rent, bills... and sending money to my family." The 35-year-old woman is originally from San Vicente, El Salvador, where she left behind her mother and 18-year-old son. "I'm a single mother, so they only have me to send them money. Every night I call my son to let him know I'm okay and that I haven't been detained. They know what's going on here. He helps me a lot, telling me, 'Mommy, don't worry, everything will be okay.'"

Since the raids began, the only place Sulma goes is to the restaurant. Thursday is her only day off, and now she spends her time locked up in the apartment, which measures just 30 square meters—she says it's the same size as the interior patio of the restaurant where we're sitting—and which she shares with three other undocumented women. "Two of us sleep in the bedroom and two in the living room, where the kitchen is also." Even when it's time to go shopping, she tries not to linger too long in the store. "I grab what I need and leave quickly," she explains.

La Sulma admits she doesn't have a plan in case she runs into ICE. "I'm scared to think that they could deport me, not only for what could happen to me, but for my family. They would be saddled with the debt. Every time I see a new video of the raids, I can't stop thinking about my son"—her brown eyes water—"I didn't just come to that country for a better life, I didn't just come to this country to work, I only came to this country to work for my family. My only plan is to get money so that things will be better and after a while, return to El Salvador with them," she says, her voice breaking.

"Why do my parents have to live in fear?"

Among the protesters who come out every afternoon in downtown Los Angeles is Michael González. The young man is practically the same age as Sulma's son, 19 years old. "I have undocumented Hispanic parents, and I'm here to give them a voice. They can't go out, they're afraid to go to work, to do the normal things we should be able to do. And, honestly, it's a disgrace what the government is doing to hardworking people," González denounces. He does have citizenship thanks to the constitutional amendment that establishes that anyone born in the United States is a full citizen. One of the first executive orders Trump signed in his offensive against migrants attacked precisely that amendment. The action was immediately blocked by several federal courts, and now the Supreme Court must rule.

The young man explains that he has had to drop out of school to go to work, since his parents are unable to leave the house. "I was enrolled to study nursing, but I had to put it on hold. But I don't mind going to work; I do it with great pride for my parents," he says. Still, he admits these days are tough. "Honestly, I feel so alone. I have to go to work every day, and they're at home, and they tell me they're afraid ICE will knock at any moment. Why do they have to live in fear? It's not fair."