North Charleston officer to receive ‘Lifesaving Award' for helping person during mental health incident
Sgt. Diego Lizarazo, who saved a man last month on the Ashley Phosphate Road/I-26 overpass, will be honored with the department's Lifesaving Award.
Dash camera footage from the agency showed Sgt. Lizarazo responding to a mental health emergency on the overpass.
'This reminded me that listening without judgment, offering support, and taking action was what I needed to do to help this individual,' said Sgt. Lizarazo, following the incident.
The recognition will come as the North Charleston Police Department and Chief Ron Camacho swear in seven new officers joining the department.
Chief Camacho will also honor the Spanish-speaking officers and civilians who taught the recent Citizens Police Academy class.
The ceremony will get underway at 10 a.m.
If you or anyone you know are in need of help, you can dial 988 from any phone for the suicide and crisis lifeline. Your conversations are free and confidential, and the hotline is available at any time.
Copyright 2025 Nexstar Media, Inc. All rights reserved. This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten, or redistributed.
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Yahoo
an hour ago
- Yahoo
Fear of ICE raids is making heat intolerable for Southern California families
For the last 16 years, Isabel has worked harvesting carrots, lemons and grapes in the Coachella Valley. The undocumented mother of three — who, like others The Times spoke with, declined to give her last name out of fear for her family's safety — says the heat in recent summers has been increasingly difficult to manage. And now, with fewer workers showing up due to fears of ongoing immigration enforcement raids across California, Isabel says she and those who remain have to endure fewer breaks and more physical strain. Crews that once numbered five groups of 18 workers each are down to three groups of 18. The demands, however, haven't changed. 'You have to pack so many boxes in a day,' Isabel said in Spanish. 'If it takes you a while to get water, you'll neglect the boxes you're packing. You have to put in more effort." California's outdoor heat standard — which applies to all workers, legal or undocumented — guarantees breaks for shade and water. But the fear of falling behind often discourages workers from taking advantage, labor advocates say. And with fewer workers in the fields, employers have begun asking those who do show up to stay later into the day; some who used to be home by 1 p.m. are now in the fields during the hottest parts of the afternoon, they say. Isabel described a recent incident of a woman on her crew who appeared to be suffering from heatstroke. The supervisors did help her, "but it took them a while to call 911,' Isabel said. Sandra Reyes, a program manager at TODEC Legal Center, which works with immigrants and their families in the Inland Empire and Coachella Valley, said she has seen the same pattern unfold across California's agricultural communities. Fewer workers means greater physical strain for those who remain. And in the fields, that strain compounds rapidly under high heat. 'There are times when the body just gives out,' Reyes said. 'All of this is derived from fear.' Across Southern California, from fields to homes, parks to markets, the fear of immigration enforcement is making it harder for individuals and families to stay safe as temperatures rise. Early on June 18 in the eastern Coachella Valley, word spread among the agricultural workers that unmarked cars and SUVS — and, later on, helicopters and convoys of military vehicles — that they rightly guessed carried federal agents were converging on the fields. Anticipating a raid by Customs and Border Protection or Immigration and Customs Enforcement, the reaction was immediate. Workers — many undocumented — fled, some going into the fields, hiding beneath grapevines or climbing up date palm trees. Local organizers began to get calls from frightened workers and their families. Making matters worse was the heat. Inland Congregations United for Change, a nonprofit community organization in San Bernardino, sent out teams with water and ice. They found a number of people who had been in the blazing sun for hours, afraid to return home. Some had run out of water as temperatures soared to 113 degrees, eating grapes off the vine in an attempt to stay hydrated. 'There [were] people who are elderly, who need medication,' said J. Reyes Lopez, who works with the organization. Officials later confirmed that the multiple-agency operation led by the Drug Enforcement Administration had detained 70 to 75 undocumented individuals — part of the Trump administration's immigration enforcement effort. Read more: National Guard came to L.A. to fight unrest. Troops ended up fighting boredom In the days that followed, there were lasting impacts in the fields. 'Many [workers] have not returned to work, especially those with small children,' said TODEC's Reyes. And for those who did return, it soon became clear that they were expected to do the same amount of work, only now with fewer people. The summer of 2024 saw record-breaking heat in Southern California, and experts predict 2025 will be just as bad, if not worse. These rising temperatures — largely due to climate change — have serious effects on the health of workers and their families, said Arturo Vargas Bustamante, a UCLA professor of health policy and management. Exposure to extreme heat can trigger or exacerbate a raft of health issues such as cramps, strokes and cardiovascular and kidney disease, as well as mental health issues. It's not just agricultural workers who are affected. Car wash employees often are exposed to direct heat without regular access to water or breaks, said Flor Rodriguez, executive director of the CLEAN Carwash Worker Center. Because that industry has become a target for enforcement operations, car wash owners have had to hire staff to replace workers who have been apprehended or who no longer come in because they fear they could be next. That often means hiring younger or less experienced people who are unfamiliar with workplace conditions and protections. "The most dangerous day for you at work is your first day," said Sheheryar Kaoosji, executive director of the Warehouse Worker Resource Center. Even when workers feel physically unsafe, Kaoosji said, they may fail to speak up, due to fears about job security. When that happens, he said, 'preventative tactics like breaks, cooling down, drinking water, don't happen." Itzel — a recipient of the Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals policy whose family lives in Long Beach — has seen the same patterns among her co-workers in the landscaping industry. 'They wanna get to the job site early and they want to leave as early as they can,' she said. 'They're not taking their breaks. … They're not taking their lunches.' When they do, it's often for 30 minutes or less, with many choosing to eat behind closed gates rather than under the shade of a tree if it means they can remain better hidden. Overexertion under peak heat, noted Javier Hernandez, executive director of the Inland Coalition for Immigrant Justice, is becoming a survival strategy — a way to reduce exposure to ICE, even at the cost of physical health. Heat, unlike more visible workplace hazards, often goes unreported and unrecognized, especially in industries where workers are temporary, undocumented or unfamiliar with their rights. 'There's a huge undercount of the number of people who are impacted by heat,' Kaoosji said. 'Heat is really complicated.' Read more: The L.A. Times investigation into extreme heat's deadly toll And with ICE presence now reported at clinics and hospitals, access to medical care has been compromised. 'It's just another way for people — these communities — to be terrorized,' Kaoosji said. In the Inland Empire, where summer temperatures regularly climb into the triple digits, Hernandez said many families are now making impossible choices: Do they turn on the air conditioning or buy groceries? Do they stay inside and risk heat exhaustion, or go outside and risk being taken? These questions have reshaped Isabel's life. She now goes to work only a few days a week, when she feels safe enough to leave her children. That means there's not enough money to cover the bills. Isabel and her family now spend most of the day confined to a single room in their mobile home, the only one with air conditioning. Their electricity bill has rocketed from $80 to $250 a month. So far, her family has been able to make partial payments to the utility, but she fears what will happen if their electricity gets cut off, as has happened to some of her neighbors. Before the raids, Isabel's family would cool off at a nearby stream, go to air-conditioned shops or grab a raspado, or shaved ice. But in the face of heightened enforcement, these sorts of routines have largely been abandoned. 'Those are very simple things,' Hernandez said, 'but they are very meaningful to families.' Fear also makes it difficult to spend time at public cooling centers, libraries or other public buildings that in theory could offer an escape from the heat. Isabel's youngest child isn't used to staying quiet for long periods, and she worries they'll draw attention in unfamiliar public spaces. 'I do my best to keep them cool,' Isabel said, explaining that she now resorts to bathing her children regularly as one cooling strategy. Itzel's father, who is undocumented, hasn't left his apartment in over a month out of fear of immigration enforcement actions. He used to make up to $6,000 a month as a trucker — now, he can't afford to turn on his air conditioning. Where once there were weekend walks, family barbecues, trips to the park or the beach to cool down, now there is isolation. 'We're basically in a cell," Itzel said. "This is worse than COVID. At least with COVID, we could walk around the block.' The same has been true for Mirtha, a naturalized citizen who lives in Maywood with her husband, whose immigration status is uncertain, and their five U.S.-born children. In previous summers, her family — which includes four special needs children — relied on public spaces, such as parks, splash pads, shopping centers and community centers to cool down. Now her family spends most of the time isolated and indoors. Even critical errands such as picking up medications or groceries have shifted to nighttime hours for safety reasons. Meanwhile, her husband, a cook, stopped working altogether in early June due to fear of deportation. Even turning on their one small air conditioner has become a financial decision. Constant fear, confinement and oppressive heat has worsened her children's mental and physical well-being, she said. Staying indoors has also led to serious health challenges for Mirtha herself, who suffers from high blood pressure and other medical conditions. On a particularly hot day on June 21, Mirtha got so sick she ended up in the hospital. 'My high blood pressure got too high. I started having tachycardia,' she said. Despite Mirtha's citizenship status, she hesitated to call emergency services, and instead had her husband drive her and drop her off at the emergency room entrance. Summer temperatures continue to rise and enforcement operations keep expanding. 'We're only seeing the beginning,' said Mar Velez, policy director at the Latino Coalition for a Healthy California. 'People are suffering silently.' Jason De León, a UCLA professor of anthropology and Chicana/o and Central American studies, warns that deportations taking place in the summer will also probably force many to reattempt border crossings under the most dangerous conditions of the year. 'We're not only putting people in harm's way in the United States,' he said, 'but then by deporting them in the summer … those folks are going to now be running this kind of deadly gantlet through the desert again. They are going to attempt to come back to the only life that many folks have, the only life they've ever known.' Isabel insists they're here for one thing: to work. 'We came here just to work, we want to be allowed to work,' she said. 'Not to feel like we do now, just going out and hiding.' More than anything, 'we want to be again like we were before — free.' This story originally appeared in Los Angeles Times. Solve the daily Crossword
Los Angeles Times
an hour ago
- Los Angeles Times
Fear of ICE raids is making heat intolerable for Southern California families
For the last 16 years, Isabel has worked harvesting carrots, lemons and grapes in the Coachella Valley. The undocumented mother of three — who, like others The Times spoke with, declined to give her last name out of fear for her family's safety — says the heat in recent summers has been increasingly difficult to manage. And now, with fewer workers showing up due to fears of ongoing immigration enforcement raids across California, Isabel says she and those who remain have to endure fewer breaks and more physical strain. Crews that once numbered five groups of 18 workers each are down to three groups of 18. The demands, however, haven't changed. 'You have to pack so many boxes in a day,' Isabel said in Spanish. 'If it takes you a while to get water, you'll neglect the boxes you're packing. You have to put in more effort.' California's outdoor heat standard — which applies to all workers, legal or undocumented — guarantees breaks for shade and water. But the fear of falling behind often discourages workers from taking advantage, labor advocates say. And with fewer workers in the fields, employers have begun asking those who do show up to stay later into the day; some who used to be home by 1 p.m. are now in the fields during the hottest parts of the afternoon, they say. Isabel described a recent incident of a woman on her crew who appeared to be suffering from heatstroke. The supervisors did help her, 'but it took them a while to call 911,' Isabel said. Sandra Reyes, a program manager at TODEC Legal Center, which works with immigrants and their families in the Inland Empire and Coachella Valley, said she has seen the same pattern unfold across California's agricultural communities. Fewer workers means greater physical strain for those who remain. And in the fields, that strain compounds rapidly under high heat. 'There are times when the body just gives out,' Reyes said. 'All of this is derived from fear.' Across Southern California, from fields to homes, parks to markets, the fear of immigration enforcement is making it harder for individuals and families to stay safe as temperatures rise. Early on June 18 in the eastern Coachella Valley, word spread among the agricultural workers that unmarked cars and SUVS — and, later on, helicopters and convoys of military vehicles — that they rightly guessed carried federal agents were converging on the fields. Anticipating a raid by Customs and Border Protection or Immigration and Customs Enforcement, the reaction was immediate. Workers — many undocumented — fled, some going into the fields, hiding beneath grapevines or climbing up date palm trees. Local organizers began to get calls from frightened workers and their families. Making matters worse was the heat. Inland Congregations United for Change, a nonprofit community organization in San Bernardino, sent out teams with water and ice. They found a number of people who had been in the blazing sun for hours, afraid to return home. Some had run out of water as temperatures soared to 113 degrees, eating grapes off the vine in an attempt to stay hydrated. 'There [were] people who are elderly, who need medication,' said J. Reyes Lopez, who works with the organization. Officials later confirmed that the multiple-agency operation led by the Drug Enforcement Administration had detained 70 to 75 undocumented individuals — part of the Trump administration's immigration enforcement effort. In the days that followed, there were lasting impacts in the fields. 'Many [workers] have not returned to work, especially those with small children,' said TODEC's Reyes. And for those who did return, it soon became clear that they were expected to do the same amount of work, only now with fewer people. The summer of 2024 saw record-breaking heat in Southern California, and experts predict 2025 will be just as bad, if not worse. These rising temperatures — largely due to climate change — have serious effects on the health of workers and their families, said Arturo Vargas Bustamante, a UCLA professor of health policy and management. Exposure to extreme heat can trigger or exacerbate a raft of health issues such as cramps, strokes and cardiovascular and kidney disease, as well as mental health issues. It's not just agricultural workers who are affected. Car wash employees often are exposed to direct heat without regular access to water or breaks, said Flor Rodriguez, executive director of the CLEAN Carwash Worker Center. Because that industry has become a target for enforcement operations, car wash owners have had to hire staff to replace workers who have been apprehended or who no longer come in because they fear they could be next. That often means hiring younger or less experienced people who are unfamiliar with workplace conditions and protections. 'The most dangerous day for you at work is your first day,' said Sheheryar Kaoosji, executive director of the Warehouse Worker Resource Center. Even when workers feel physically unsafe, Kaoosji said, they may fail to speak up, due to fears about job security. When that happens, he said, 'preventative tactics like breaks, cooling down, drinking water, don't happen.' Itzel — a recipient of the Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals policy whose family lives in Long Beach — has seen the same patterns among her co-workers in the landscaping industry. 'They wanna get to the job site early and they want to leave as early as they can,' she said. 'They're not taking their breaks. … They're not taking their lunches.' When they do, it's often for 30 minutes or less, with many choosing to eat behind closed gates rather than under the shade of a tree if it means they can remain better hidden. Overexertion under peak heat, noted Javier Hernandez, executive director of the Inland Coalition for Immigrant Justice, is becoming a survival strategy — a way to reduce exposure to ICE, even at the cost of physical health. Heat, unlike more visible workplace hazards, often goes unreported and unrecognized, especially in industries where workers are temporary, undocumented or unfamiliar with their rights. 'There's a huge undercount of the number of people who are impacted by heat,' Kaoosji said. 'Heat is really complicated.' And with ICE presence now reported at clinics and hospitals, access to medical care has been compromised. 'It's just another way for people — these communities — to be terrorized,' Kaoosji said. In the Inland Empire, where summer temperatures regularly climb into the triple digits, Hernandez said many families are now making impossible choices: Do they turn on the air conditioning or buy groceries? Do they stay inside and risk heat exhaustion, or go outside and risk being taken? These questions have reshaped Isabel's life. She now goes to work only a few days a week, when she feels safe enough to leave her children. That means there's not enough money to cover the bills. Isabel and her family now spend most of the day confined to a single room in their mobile home, the only one with air conditioning. Their electricity bill has rocketed from $80 to $250 a month. So far, her family has been able to make partial payments to the utility, but she fears what will happen if their electricity gets cut off, as has happened to some of her neighbors. Before the raids, Isabel's family would cool off at a nearby stream, go to air-conditioned shops or grab a raspado, or shaved ice. But in the face of heightened enforcement, these sorts of routines have largely been abandoned. 'Those are very simple things,' Hernandez said, 'but they are very meaningful to families.' Fear also makes it difficult to spend time at public cooling centers, libraries or other public buildings that in theory could offer an escape from the heat. Isabel's youngest child isn't used to staying quiet for long periods, and she worries they'll draw attention in unfamiliar public spaces. 'I do my best to keep them cool,' Isabel said, explaining that she now resorts to bathing her children regularly as one cooling strategy. Itzel's father, who is undocumented, hasn't left his apartment in over a month out of fear of immigration enforcement actions. He used to make up to $6,000 a month as a trucker — now, he can't afford to turn on his air conditioning. Where once there were weekend walks, family barbecues, trips to the park or the beach to cool down, now there is isolation. 'We're basically in a cell,' Itzel said. 'This is worse than COVID. At least with COVID, we could walk around the block.' The same has been true for Mirtha, a naturalized citizen who lives in Maywood with her husband, whose immigration status is uncertain, and their five U.S.-born children. In previous summers, her family — which includes four special needs children — relied on public spaces, such as parks, splash pads, shopping centers and community centers to cool down. Now her family spends most of the time isolated and indoors. Even critical errands such as picking up medications or groceries have shifted to nighttime hours for safety reasons. Meanwhile, her husband, a cook, stopped working altogether in early June due to fear of deportation. Even turning on their one small air conditioner has become a financial decision. Constant fear, confinement and oppressive heat has worsened her children's mental and physical well-being, she said. Staying indoors has also led to serious health challenges for Mirtha herself, who suffers from high blood pressure and other medical conditions. On a particularly hot day on June 21, Mirtha got so sick she ended up in the hospital. 'My high blood pressure got too high. I started having tachycardia,' she said. Despite Mirtha's citizenship status, she hesitated to call emergency services, and instead had her husband drive her and drop her off at the emergency room entrance. Summer temperatures continue to rise and enforcement operations keep expanding. 'We're only seeing the beginning,' said Mar Velez, policy director at the Latino Coalition for a Healthy California. 'People are suffering silently.' Jason De León, a UCLA professor of anthropology and Chicana/o and Central American studies, warns that deportations taking place in the summer will also probably force many to reattempt border crossings under the most dangerous conditions of the year. 'We're not only putting people in harm's way in the United States,' he said, 'but then by deporting them in the summer … those folks are going to now be running this kind of deadly gantlet through the desert again. They are going to attempt to come back to the only life that many folks have, the only life they've ever known.' Isabel insists they're here for one thing: to work. 'We came here just to work, we want to be allowed to work,' she said. 'Not to feel like we do now, just going out and hiding.' More than anything, 'we want to be again like we were before — free.'
USA Today
2 hours ago
- USA Today
ICE raided a popular swap meet. Now vendors and and customers are coming back.
Gerardo Pichardo used to set out his electronics and Amazon overstock products for sale in an indoor space at the Santa Fe Springs Swap Meet. But after an U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement raid on June 14 at the Los Angeles area hub for Spanish-speaking Latino vendors, he said he now sets up outside, "with only essential things, so if anything happens I can get out of here fast." Vendors such as Pichardo say fear of ICE has meant a loss of customers and fewer vendors this summer. Some vendors stopped showing up, and the ones who continued selling said their business declined, though it is slowly recalled that a few years ago, he saw a tribute to Maná — a Mexican rock band — perform at the swap meet. He remembered a crowd of people drinking and dancing to the music. Two such concerts have been canceled since the raid. The swap meet is a place where customers find deals for as low as a dollar, attend live performances and enjoy a sense of community. A month after the raid, canopies shielding vendors from the sun speckled the outdoor lot, with goods laid out on tables and the ground. Signs read '$1' or "$2." Vendors called out to the occasional passing customer. Still, a lot of aisles remained empty. Some vendors left early. A man selling kitchen supplies packed up his antiques and silverware two hours ahead of closing time. But the community spirit of the swap meet is still alive with him and many others. He sold a toaster for $2 to a skeptical customer, telling him that if it didn't work, he could bring it back. Cecilia Soriano, who has been selling groceries at the swap meet for a year and a half, said her business has been cut in half since the raid. She hasn't seen some of her regular customers in weeks. The day of the raid, a woman came around to inform vendors about ICE agents in the area. When her customers passed by, Soriano warned them. Pichardo, who has been selling at the swap meet for five years, also remembers the day of the ICE raid. He was sitting in the booth with his dad when he heard someone on the phone mention that ICE was two blocks away. Many vendors left. He packed his products into his truck and drove away. As he exited the lot, he saw two unmarked white vans outside. Not long after, according a statement the Santa Fe Swap Meet's statement posted on Instagram, more than 110 armed federal agents in tactical gear, alongside a military helicopter, raided the swap meet and detained at least two people hours before a concert with five Mexican bands was supposed to take place. 'It was a regular day until somebody said 'ICE,'' Pichardo said. 'Then everyone was panicking. They knew ICE was in the area, but they didn't know they would come in.' A friend who has been selling clothes at the swap meet for nearly 10 years hid in a shipping container for several hours until everybody left to avoid the chaos of the raid, Pichardo said. In its statement on Instagram, the Santa Fe Springs Swap Meet said of the raid that they 'were given no notice of their arrival and at no point' consented to ICE enforcement. 'To be clear, the Santa Fe Springs Swap Meet, and its personnel did not coordinate with ICE or participate in any preplanning of immigration enforcement with federal officials,' they said in the statement. 'These actions were completely out of our control.' Swap meet managers declined to comment on the effects of the raid on vendors and customers. The raid at Santa Fe Springs reverberated elsewhere. At the Vineland Swap Meet in La Puente, California, vendors also said they've seen a decline in business, even though their swap meet has not been raided. Felipe, who asked that his last name not be shared because he fears ICE will target his family, has been selling packaged food, restaurant supplies and knickknacks at the Vineland meet with his parents for over 15 years. He also said that business had declined in the last month since the ICE raids, but it is slowly increasing. In an interview on July 16, he said that day was the busiest it had been since the raids started. Still, not everything has returned to normal. He said that there was a woman across from his booth that initially sold clothes but started selling tools at Vineland; since the raids started, her spot has been empty. She was there longer than his family was. He said it is sad not seeing her and wondering if it is because of fear. His family also has regular customers, and he said there are many he hasn't seen since the raids started, but for the most part many still go to be supportive. It is the way his family sustains their livelihood. 'I think a lot of people are afraid, so they don't, they don't drop by,' Felipe said. 'I think it's recently been picking it back up, but it's still slow.' Wendy Alma Flores, who has been at a booth ath the Vineland meet giving senior citizens information about Medicare for a year and a half, said that she was initially scared for her clients and she was even afraid to go to the meet because she didn't want to put anyone at risk. She said many vendors didn't have a choice and returned because they needed the income. But she said she believes more people are showing up because they are learning about their rights, getting more educated and learning how to protect themselves. As a local, Flores said she has been going to the swap meet since she was a kid and remembers walking through the lines of vendors with her family. Now she has her own booth with regulars who sit with her just to have a conversation. 'It's good to see people come back and just see the community united again,' Flores said. 'People actually care about each other.' At the Santa Fe Springs meet, almost five weeks after the raid, Soriano saw a weekly customer she fondly refers to as 'güera' return for the first time. She said the woman usually buys candy, fruit-juice punch and Gatorade. She has been encouraging more people to come back to the swap meets. 'A lot of these people, they're family to me,' Soriano said. The community is starting to rebuild. In a July 17 interview, Pichardo said it was the busiest the Santa Fe Springs Swap Meet had been in weeks. He said the rebuilding of the community speaks to the resilience of Latinos in Los Angeles. 'That's the Latino community. We do come together in a time of need, and we do support each other when it's necessary,' Pichardo said. 'It's started picking up already.'
