I'm the daughter of immigrants. The LA I know isn't in the news.

Vox

a day ago

is an Associate Director, Audience at Vox. Born and raised in Los Angeles, she graduated from USC with degrees in broadcast and digital journalism and narrative studies
My mom has been a housekeeper for as long as I can remember. As a child, I'd accompany her on the bus to the houses she cleaned, impressed with how it seemed like she knew just about everyone en route to their own jobs. There was always friendly acknowledgment and solidarity — especially with those in restaurant uniforms or carrying their own cleaning supplies.
Some of the people she befriended became trusted confidants she'd recruit to help with strenuous cleaning gigs and eventually help land custodial jobs with the city of Los Angeles. Many years later, these individuals would pool together money to ensure I didn't fly across the country to an internship in New York City empty-handed, even though they didn't have much to give. Getting a front-row seat to the community my mom built with others who worked low-wage jobs with long hours — for a shot at not just a better life for their families but for survival — was one of the most special acts of camaraderie I've had the privilege to witness.
My mom never complained. Neither did her friends. Their resilience, both mental and physical, taught me to acknowledge people who so often get overlooked. I thought of them as I said hello to the custodians who worked early mornings and late nights at the University of Southern California while I attended school there. I thought of them as I translated the news for social media posts in my previous job at the Los Angeles Times, understanding that language barriers can make receiving quality information much harder. And I thought of them and others who had taken similar journeys to LA as US Immigration and Customs Enforcement conducts aggressive immigration raids throughout the city.
Hundreds of protesters call for an end to immigration sweeps across Los Angeles by ICE on June 5, 2025. Genaro Molina/Los Angeles Times via Getty Images
In the last few weeks, ICE has intensified its operations throughout the US. White House Deputy Chief of Staff Stephen Miller urged immigration enforcement to make at least 3,000 arrests a day. The Trump administration has frequently targeted 'sanctuary jurisdictions' with large immigrant populations like Los Angeles, arguing they are getting in the way of its campaign promise to deport millions of people.
Thousands of demonstrators protested ICE and its raids over the weekend, leading to clashes with the police, and President Donald Trump deploying the National Guard to LA. As of Tuesday, the administration has also sent in around 700 Marines. Images of Los Angeles Police Department officers in riot gear, demonstrators blocking the 101 freeway, infographics with resources for undocumented immigrants, and arrests flooded my social media feeds. A video of a man being detained by ICE outside of his workplace went viral. His daughter, who filmed the post, cries in the background, telling him how much she loves him while reminding him of his rights. As she tries to plead with him, he remains calm. His bravery reminded me of my mom, whose quiet demeanor eclipses the sacrifices she's made to give her five children a better life.
In the wake of the protests, Trump posted on Truth Social, 'A once great American City, Los Angeles, has been invaded and occupied by Illegal Aliens and Criminals. Now violent, insurrectionist mobs are swarming and attacking our Federal Agents to try and stop our deportation operations — But these lawless riots only strengthen our resolve...'
The LA I know, the city I grew up in and care deeply about, hasn't been 'invaded' and isn't a 'lawless' place that requires federal force. While so much media focuses on protests, further legitimizing Trump's war zone narrative, an important story is being overlooked: immigrants, like many detained outside of their workplaces, and like my mom, have quietly built this city.
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More immigrants live in California than in any other state. Undocumented Californians paid $96.7 billion in taxes in 2022, all while being generally unable to access services their taxes help fund, like Medicaid and housing assistance. Over one in three Angelenos are immigrants, and while estimates vary, there could be about 1 million undocumented LA residents.
And there is no LA without Latinos. The city was originally a part of Mexico, and Latino influence remains a cornerstone of its identity. Its namesake, neighborhoods, and street names (Los Feliz, San Pedro, La Cienega, La Brea, and more) reflect its Spanish-speaking origins. Olvera Street, the colorful marketplace, and Union Station, a transit hub that combines modern and Latin architectural styles, are only two examples of culturally significant landmarks. Latinos comprise almost half of the Los Angeles Dodgers' fan base and have endearingly called the team 'Los Doyers' for decades. The late baseball star Fernando Valenzuela was a pitching pioneer in Major League Baseball. The city, known as a major culinary destination, boasts all kinds of regional Mexican and Central American cuisines. You can find Oaxacan tlayudas, Sinaloan aguachiles, Salvadoran pupusas, and Guatemalan tamales all within a 30-minute radius.
In that same Truth Social post, Trump wrote that Los Angeles would be set free. But how could it be liberated from the same generations of people who continue to help define it?
Olvera Street in Los Angeles on June 6, 2025. Myung J. Chun/Los Angeles Times via Getty Images
Contrary to what some headlines might suggest, the backlash on LA's streets and displays of support online are unsurprising. There's a long history of social justice activism here: demands for educational equity in the East Los Angeles walkouts in 1968, solidarity with farmworker strikes demanding better labor conditions in the '70s, the 1992 Rodney King uprising against police brutality, and protests in 2020 following George Floyd's murder. What's being demonstrated now is a city united with people who aren't invaders or occupants, but who are LA.
There are too many stereotypes about Los Angeles to count. One commonly heard narrative, likely from the influx of transplants coming to take advantage of the entertainment industry, presumes that so many people are driven by their own personal gains, and are too unwilling to venture outside of their affluent neighborhoods to care about others on a macro level. This couldn't be further from the truth.
Earlier this year, California experienced the Eaton and Palisades fires. In the aftermath of the tragedy, Angelenos banded together to support their communities. Volunteers assembled food packages and sorted through donations. Several local restaurants offered free food to victims and first responders. Countless grassroots efforts directly supported displaced individuals.
This sense of empathy isn't limited to large-scale catastrophes. I live in the South Bay, where people are eager to support their villages. They contribute to GoFundMes to help alleviate hospital bills and funeral expenses. They support small businesses, volunteer their time at fundraisers, participate in meal trains, and share helpful events and resources on their social media profiles.
There's a painful disconnect between sensationalized storytelling and the Los Angeles I've known and lived in for my entire life. As I scroll through videos of vandalism outside city hall, officers teargassing protesters, and children terrified about where their parents are headed to, I can't help but feel both immense grief and anger. It's easy for cameras to capture chaos and unrest, rather than the circumstances that led people to leave their country of origin. It's easy for trolls online to suggest that people should have come here legally, without acknowledging the intricate process and undocumented immigrants' predisposition to exploitation.
Stories about immigrants are not always afforded nuance. Their humanity is stripped as they are categorized into political talking points or condensed into data figures. The actions they've taken to change the trajectory of their families' lives are what many others would do in their position, but are judged differently because of the framing. The lives they actually live — the callouses they've developed on their hands after years of labor many couldn't imagine undertaking, the people they make laugh, the motivations that drive them, their homesickness for places that don't exist anymore — are often ignored. It hurts because I am familiar with the people behind the headlines. They raised me.
As news coverage and political figures paint my hometown as a disorderly battleground overrun with 'illegals,' I wish they could understand the LA I know and am proud to live in. It's where people acknowledge those who quietly live up to the American ethos of pulling themselves up by their bootstraps despite not living in a meritocracy, with little recognition and not even so much as a 'hello' in passing. It's where camaraderie runs deep, whether people are contributing to mutual aid funds or ensuring their friend's daughter gets to pursue her dreams in a state they might never visit. Los Angeles's foundation is made up of people like my mom, who understand hardship, but continue to choose generosity instead.