At a federal immigration building in downtown Los Angeles, which is heavily guarded by U.S. Marines, families gather in an underground garage to search for their loved ones detained by federal immigration agents. This processing center serves as the first stop for immigrants without legal status in Southern California, where officers verify identities and biometrics before transferring detainees to facilities. Families often arrive with essentials like medication and clothing, hoping for a brief reunion with their detained relatives, yet many leave without any updates, sometimes unaware if their family members are even inside. Reports of horrifying conditions inside the facilities also circulate, including accounts of detainees drinking from toilets due to thirst.
Protests erupted outside the federal building as activists condemned ongoing aggressive immigration raids that began in June and continue without respite. The raids have put fear into a community where a third of the 10 million residents are foreign-born, coming from countries such as Mexico, Guatemala, India, and Iran. Many families learned of the detentions through social media videos that captured masked officers in public places like Home Depots and taco stands.
Waiting for updates, families often line up outside a door labeled "B-18." On a recent morning, Christina Jimenez is joined by her cousin to inquire about her 61-year-old stepfather, Mario Alberto Del Cid Solares. Despite the family's attempts to prepare him for potential detainment by advising him to remain silent and compliant, he continues to work as a day laborer. Jimenez is relieved to learn that he is indeed inside the facility, but she carries the worry that he may be deported to a third country instead of returning to Guatemala.
As the day unfolds, Estrella Rosas and her mother wait anxiously for news of Rosas's sister, Andrea Velez, a U.S. citizen who was detained after being targeted while near a tamale stand. Despite presenting her sister’s passport and birth certificate, they initially learn that Velez is not in the processing center but next door in a federal detention center, accused of obstructing immigration officers, a claim the family denies. Fortunately, Velez is released a day later.
Throughout the morning, families are seen comforting one another in the oppressive atmosphere. As lawyers begin to emerge from the building after meetings with clients, they are met with requests for legal help. Kim Carver, an attorney associated with the Trans Latino Coalition, reflects on the difficulties faced in locating a transgender Honduran client who was transferred to a Texas facility shortly after being detained despite showing promise in her asylum case.
As more people arrive throughout the day, they exchange essential information about their detained loved ones, including the critical "A-number," which is necessary for legal assistance. Some families are visibly distressed, sharing personal anecdotes about the conditions faced by their loved ones inside the facilities. Mayra Segura looks for her uncle, whose cart was abandoned, highlighting how the detentions affect livelihoods.
By the afternoon, Jasmin Camacho Picazo arrives to see her husband dressed in hospital scrubs. She expresses concern about his well-being, noting that he mentioned others were drinking toilet water due to lack of access to clean drinking water. As families continue to wait, tensions rise when an ICE officer informs them that visitation hours are about to end, leaving many still awaiting news about their relatives.
As the day draws to a close, the frustrations of waiting families intensify. Many mothers and children linger, their faces reflecting disbelief and hope for the return of their loved ones. The ongoing immigration raids and the accompanying emotional toll further deepen the already strained environment surrounding the federal building in Los Angeles.
