Fear of ICE raids is making heat intolerable for Southern California families

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6 days ago

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.
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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.
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