Latest news with #LindsayToczylowski
Yahoo
20 hours ago
- Politics
- Yahoo
As Ice infiltrates LA, neighborhoods fall quiet: ‘We can't even go out for a walk'
It has been eerily easy to find street parking in Los Angeles's fashion district this week. In the nearby flower district, longtime vendors have locked up stalls. And in East LA, popular taquerías have temporarily closed. Neighborhoods across LA and southern California have gone quiet since the Trump administration ramped up immigration raids in the region two weeks ago. The aggressive arrests by federal agents have ignited roaring protests which the administration tried to quell by mobilizing thousands of national guard troops. Last weekend, Americans protested the raids and other administration policies in one of the biggest ever single-day demonstrations in US history. But immigration enforcement in LA has only intensified. In downtown Los Angeles, Lindsay Toczylowski, the executive director of the Immigrant Defenders Law Center (ImmDef) was alerted on Wednesday morning that federal agents in masks and bulletproof vests had ambushed a man who was biking down the street, not far from her office, and had arrested him. She and a colleague rushed outside, to see if the agents were targeting anyone else. Later, they puzzled over how and why agents had decided to target this man. Did they have a warrant? Did they even know who he was? Or was it just that he looked like he could be an immigrant. 'It feels so invasive. They're everywhere,' she said. It was the type of arrest that has immigrants across the region weighing if, and when, it will be safe to go outside. In LA's Koreatown, a dense, immigrant neighborhood just west of downtown, children were playing at Seoul international park, but not as many as usual. Outside Jon's grocery, there were only a few street vendors who had set up shop – where normally there would be a dozen or more. Guillermo, 61, had come out, with his wife, to set up their small stall selling medications, vitamins and toiletries. 'To be honest, we're scared,' he said, nervously raking his fingers through his tightly coiled hair. They'd stayed home, stayed away, for days – but this week, they found out that their landlord would be increasing their rent by $400 starting next month. 'We need to make money.' Then again, he wondered if it was worth the risk to come out. There was hardly any foot traffic. No customers. 'They're all Latino,' he said, shaking his head. 'They're all scared to come out.' In normal times, Lorena would be selling tamales nearby – at least until about 5pm. Fifty years old, with with slick black hair, she could pass for quite a bit younger. She'd spend the afternoon chatting with the other vendors – the frutero down the block, and the woman who sells candies and nuts. Sometimes, she'd chat with the young unhoused men who camp out on the street and offer them some tamales. 'They've had some bad luck, some [have] taken some bad steps,' she said. She's known some of them since they were children – she used to sell tamales outside Hobart Elementary a few blocks away. She's been selling tamales in K-town for decades. The neighborhood has changed a lot since she first came here from Oaxaca, aged 20, she said. Still, most faces are familiar; she's been selling tamales to generations of people out here. In the evenings, she'd head home, get changed and head to the park for a walk. On summer days like these when her grandchildren are off school, she'd bring them to the playground, or maybe take them out to the movies, as a treat. 'Not this week,' she said. She has barely stepped outside her home in days. Neither has her husband, who normally works as a day laborer – soliciting short-term construction jobs outside of the nearby Home Depot. On the day agents flooded the megastore's parking lot, indiscriminately cuffing laborers and vendors, a friend of her son had warned them not to come out, she said. This week has felt a bit like the first few weeks of the pandemic, like the lockdown. 'Well, now this is worse than the pandemic,' she shrugged. 'Because we can't even go out for a walk.' She can't even put on a face mask and head to the grocery store – her kids, who have legal immigration status, have been going to the market and running errands for her and her husband. 'We're not really doing anything right now,' she said. It has meant that she hasn't been able to send as much money to her mother in Mexico, and to her brother, whose health has been deteriorating rapidly because of liver cancer. 'I know he's suffering. He's suffering a lot,' she said. She cried as she tried to explain to him and her mother why she cannot send home any money this month. 'It's so hard, it's so hard,' she said. She thinks about returning to work, but it's too risky. 'If they catch me, if they deport me, that's not going to help them, is it?' For now, Lorena and her husband are staying afloat thanks to a grant from Ktown for All, a non-profit that has been raising funds to help street vendors who fear arrest and deportation. 'At least the rent is covered,' she said. 'I am so thankful. There is nothing more to do than be grateful. And hope all this will pass soon.' ' The flower district – the largest wholesale flower market in the US – has emptied out as well. On Wednesday, vendors and customers alike locked up their stalls, and headed home, following rumors that raids were coming. In downtown LA's garment district, where the surge immigration enforcement began almost two weeks ago, tailor shops, which normally would be bustling with clients adjusting the fits on their graduation and quinceañera outfits, were generally quiet. At Fernando Tailorshop, which has been operating in the neighborhood for 54 years, owner Renato Cifuentes said he had never seen anything like the recent raids. 'I see this as a persecution of the Latino more than anything else,' he said. 'If you look like a Latino, the agents go after you – that's not right.' Most of his workers are afraid to come into the shop. His customers – citizens and immigrants alike – have been staying away as well. Business is down by more than 50%, he said. 'Most of my customers are Latin, and they are afraid. Some of my customers are Iranian – and they are worried about war,' he said, 'It hurts me a lot. Everything, everything is affected.' Meanwhile, families of those arrested in the first rush of raids earlier this month, including at clothing warehouses and wholesalers in the district, have been grappling with the aftermath. 'We had to change how we eat, how we sleep, how we live, everything,' said Yurien, whose father Mario Romero was arrested in a raid at Ambiance Apparel. 'We've had to change everything.' Two weeks ago, Romero had texted her, his eldest daughter, that agents had arrived at his workplace, and that he loved her. Yurien had rushed over, and watched as agents shackled her father, and shoved him into a van. Several other family members worked at Ambiance – and were arrested as well. Normally, on weekends,Romero would bring home a huge haul of Mexican candy, brew up a big batch of agua de jamaica, and pick a classic movie for the whole family to watch. But last weekend, Yurien spent hours refreshing her search in the Ice online detainee locator system, hoping it would tell her where her father had been taken. 'We went days without knowing, without any idea what had happened to him,' she said. Later, she learned that agents had kept them in a van for more than eight hours, without food or water, or access to a restroom. Then Ice transferred them to the Adelanto detention center, in California's high desert. Local Zapotec community organizers were able to help her find him – and more than a week after his arrest, Yurien was able to put funds into his commissary, so he could call her from the detention center. 'He sounded so sad, he was crying,' she said. Yurien hasn't really felt hungry since then. She had planned to matriculate at Los Angeles Trade-Technical college, but she deferred her plans so she could take over her father's responsibilities – including the care of her four-year-old brother, who has a disability that requires close monitoring and regular doctors visits. 'It's been so hard. I've always been a daddy's girl,' she said. 'But I can't really show my emotions, because I have to stay strong for my mom, for my siblings.' Lucero Garcia, 35, said she could relate. 'I'm so overwhelmed, I'm so stressed,' she said. 'I still wake up every day and act like nothing ever happened, because I feel like I'm the main person in our family that kind of keeps it together.' Nothing has been the same for her family since her 61-year-old uncle, Candido, was arrested while working at his job at Magnolia Car Wash in Orange county, just south of LA. It was one of more than two dozen car washes in the region that have been visited by immigration agents, according to the Clean Carwash Worker Center. Before her evening shift at work on Tuesday, Garcia put on her professional black trousers and white knit top, and drove more than 90 minutes north to the Adelanto detention center, and met with congress members who were seeking to meet with constituents who had been transferred there, to investigate reports of unsanitary and unsafe conditions inside. After local representatives confirmed that detainees had been denied clean clothes and underwear for days, she stood outside in the searing desert heat and shared some words about her uncle – who had lived with her family for years and has been like another father to her. 'This is just crazy,' she said. 'I've never talked to the press before, to give speeches like this.' She had to rush back home right after to wrap up errands, and head to work. Garcia has her green card, and her sister has citizenship – so the two of them have taken shifts running errands for their entire family – picking up groceries and prescriptions, getting kids to and from playdates and activities – so that those without documentation don't have to risk stepping outside. At home, the conversations have been heavy. Some of her family members are meeting with notaries to arrange paperwork, so that she can take custody of their children, should they get arrested or deported. 'I'm so glad it's summer vacation, that none of our kids are in school right now,' she said. 'At least we don't have to worry something will happen while they're at school.' Out in her neighborhood, restaurants sit half empty, and there's no more lines at the gas station. Inside her house, it's been oddly quiet, too. Most all of Garcia's family lives in Orange county – within 5 or 10 minutes from her – and most days a cousin or an uncle would swing by, unannounced, bringing a dish or even just ingredients to cook up. Garcia is famous for her beef birria and pozole. These days everyone is staying confined to their own homes. Last weekend, they nearly forgot it was father's day. 'The vibe is not there to be celebrating,' she said. 'And even with the smallest gathering, there's a risk to leaving the house.' And there's guilt. 'Like, how can you be having dinner when others are in detention without enough food? The guilt doesn't let you move forward.' The Guardian is not using the full names of some people in this article to protect them and their families.
The Guardian
21-06-2025
- Politics
- The Guardian
As Ice infiltrates LA, neighborhoods fall quiet: ‘We can't even go out for a walk'
It has been eerily easy to find street parking in Los Angeles's fashion district this week. In the nearby flower district, longtime vendors have locked up stalls. And in East LA, popular taquerías have temporarily closed. Neighborhoods across LA and southern California have gone quiet since the Trump administration ramped up immigration raids in the region two weeks ago. The aggressive arrests by federal agents have ignited roaring protests which the administration tried to quell by mobilizing thousands of national guard troops. Last weekend, Americans protested the raids and other administration policies in one of the biggest ever single-day demonstrations in US history. But immigration enforcement in LA has only intensified. In downtown Los Angeles, Lindsay Toczylowski, the executive director of the Immigrant Defenders Law Center (ImmDef) was alerted on Wednesday morning that federal agents in masks and bulletproof vests had ambushed a man who was biking down the street, not far from her office, and had arrested him. She and a colleague rushed outside, to see if the agents were targeting anyone else. Later, they puzzled over how and why agents had decided to target this man. Did they have a warrant? Did they even know who he was? Or was it just that he looked like he could be an immigrant. 'It feels so invasive. They're everywhere,' she said. It was the type of arrest that has immigrants across the region weighing if, and when, it will be safe to go outside. In LA's Koreatown, a dense, immigrant neighborhood just west of downtown, children were playing at Seoul international park, but not as many as usual. Outside Jon's grocery, there were only a few street vendors who had set up shop – where normally there would be a dozen or more. Guillermo, 61, had come out, with his wife, to set up their small stall selling medications, vitamins and toiletries. 'To be honest, we're scared,' he said, nervously raking his fingers through his tightly coiled hair. They'd stayed home, stayed away, for days – but this week, they found out that their landlord would be increasing their rent by $400 starting next month. 'We need to make money.' Then again, he wondered if it was worth the risk to come out. There was hardly any foot traffic. No customers. 'They're all Latino,' he said, shaking his head. 'They're all scared to come out.' In normal times, Lorena would be selling tamales nearby – at least until about 5pm. Fifty years old, with with slick black hair, she could pass for quite a bit younger. She'd spend the afternoon chatting with the other vendors – the frutero down the block, and the woman who sells candies and nuts. Sometimes, she'd chat with the young unhoused men who camp out on the street and offer them some tamales. 'They've had some bad luck, some [have] taken some bad steps,' she said. She's known some of them since they were children – she used to sell tamales outside Hobart Elementary a few blocks away. She's been selling tamales in K-town for decades. The neighborhood has changed a lot since she first came here from Oaxaca, aged 20, she said. Still, most faces are familiar; she's been selling tamales to generations of people out here. In the evenings, she'd head home, get changed and head to the park for a walk. On summer days like these when her grandchildren are off school, she'd bring them to the playground, or maybe take them out to the movies, as a treat. 'Not this week,' she said. She has barely stepped outside her home in days. Neither has her husband, who normally works as a day laborer – soliciting short-term construction jobs outside of the nearby Home Depot. On the day agents flooded the megastore's parking lot, indiscriminately cuffing laborers and vendors, a friend of her son had warned them not to come out, she said. This week has felt a bit like the first few weeks of the pandemic, like the lockdown. 'Well, now this is worse than the pandemic,' she shrugged. 'Because we can't even go out for a walk.' She can't even put on a face mask and head to the grocery store – her kids, who have legal immigration status, have been going to the market and running errands for her and her husband. 'We're not really doing anything right now,' she said. It has meant that she hasn't been able to send as much money to her mother in Mexico, and to her brother, whose health has been deteriorating rapidly because of liver cancer. 'I know he's suffering. He's suffering a lot,' she said. She cried as she tried to explain to him and her mother why she cannot send home any money this month. 'It's so hard, it's so hard,' she said. She thinks about returning to work, but it's too risky. 'If they catch me, if they deport me, that's not going to help them, is it?' For now, Lorena and her husband are staying afloat thanks to a grant from Ktown for All, a non-profit that has been raising funds to help street vendors who fear arrest and deportation. 'At least the rent is covered,' she said. 'I am so thankful. There is nothing more to do than be grateful. And hope all this will pass soon.' ' The flower district – the largest wholesale flower market in the US – has emptied out as well. On Wednesday, vendors and customers alike locked up their stalls, and headed home, following rumors that raids were coming. In downtown LA's garment district, where the surge immigration enforcement began almost two weeks ago, tailor shops, which normally would be bustling with clients adjusting the fits on their graduation and quinceañera outfits, were generally quiet. At Fernando Tailorshop, which has been operating in the neighborhood for 54 years, owner Renato Cifuentes said he had never seen anything like the recent raids. 'I see this as a persecution of the Latino more than anything else,' he said. 'If you look like a Latino, the agents go after you – that's not right.' Most of his workers are afraid to come into the shop. His customers – citizens and immigrants alike – have been staying away as well. Business is down by more than 50%, he said. 'Most of my customers are Latin, and they are afraid. Some of my customers are Iranian – and they are worried about war,' he said, 'It hurts me a lot. Everything, everything is affected.' Meanwhile, families of those arrested in the first rush of raids earlier this month, including at clothing warehouses and wholesalers in the district, have been grappling with the aftermath. 'We had to change how we eat, how we sleep, how we live, everything,' said Yurien, whose father Mario Romero was arrested in a raid at Ambiance Apparel. 'We've had to change everything.' Two weeks ago, Romero had texted her, his eldest daughter, that agents had arrived at his workplace, and that he loved her. Yurien had rushed over, and watched as agents shackled her father, and shoved him into a van. Several other family members worked at Ambiance – and were arrested as well. Normally, on weekends,Romero would bring home a huge haul of Mexican candy, brew up a big batch of agua de jamaica, and pick a classic movie for the whole family to watch. But last weekend, Yurien spent hours refreshing her search in the Ice online detainee locator system, hoping it would tell her where her father had been taken. 'We went days without knowing, without any idea what had happened to him,' she said. Later, she learned that agents had kept them in a van for more than eight hours, without food or water, or access to a restroom. Then Ice transferred them to the Adelanto detention center, in California's high desert. Local Zapotec community organizers were able to help her find him – and more than a week after his arrest, Yurien was able to put funds into his commissary, so he could call her from the detention center. 'He sounded so sad, he was crying,' she said. Yurien hasn't really felt hungry since then. She had planned to matriculate at Los Angeles Trade-Technical college, but she deferred her plans so she could take over her father's responsibilities – including the care of her four-year-old brother, who has a disability that requires close monitoring and regular doctors visits. 'It's been so hard. I've always been a daddy's girl,' she said. 'But I can't really show my emotions, because I have to stay strong for my mom, for my siblings.' Lucero Garcia, 35, said she could relate. 'I'm so overwhelmed, I'm so stressed,' she said. 'I still wake up every day and act like nothing ever happened, because I feel like I'm the main person in our family that kind of keeps it together.' Nothing has been the same for her family since her 61-year-old uncle, Candido, was arrested while working at his job at Magnolia Car Wash in Orange county, just south of LA. It was one of more than two dozen car washes in the region that have been visited by immigration agents, according to the Clean Carwash Worker Center. Before her evening shift at work on Tuesday, Garcia put on her professional black trousers and white knit top, and drove more than 90 minutes north to the Adelanto detention center, and met with congress members who were seeking to meet with constituents who had been transferred there, to investigate reports of unsanitary and unsafe conditions inside. After local representatives confirmed that detainees had been denied clean clothes and underwear for days, she stood outside in the searing desert heat and shared some words about her uncle – who had lived with her family for years and has been like another father to her. 'This is just crazy,' she said. 'I've never talked to the press before, to give speeches like this.' She had to rush back home right after to wrap up errands, and head to work. Garcia has her green card, and her sister has citizenship – so the two of them have taken shifts running errands for their entire family – picking up groceries and prescriptions, getting kids to and from playdates and activities – so that those without documentation don't have to risk stepping outside. At home, the conversations have been heavy. Some of her family members are meeting with notaries to arrange paperwork, so that she can take custody of their children, should they get arrested or deported. 'I'm so glad it's summer vacation, that none of our kids are in school right now,' she said. 'At least we don't have to worry something will happen while they're at school.' Out in her neighborhood, restaurants sit half empty, and there's no more lines at the gas station. Inside her house, it's been oddly quiet, too. Most all of Garcia's family lives in Orange county – within 5 or 10 minutes from her – and most days a cousin or an uncle would swing by, unannounced, bringing a dish or even just ingredients to cook up. Garcia is famous for her beef birria and pozole. These days everyone is staying confined to their own homes. Last weekend, they nearly forgot it was father's day. 'The vibe is not there to be celebrating,' she said. 'And even with the smallest gathering, there's a risk to leaving the house.' And there's guilt. 'Like, how can you be having dinner when others are in detention without enough food? The guilt doesn't let you move forward.' The Guardian is not using the full names of some people in this article to protect them and their families.
Business of Fashion
13-06-2025
- Business
- Business of Fashion
Dispatch From Napa: Speaking to the Heart and Soul of the Beauty Industry
NEW YORK — This week, The Business of Beauty Global Forum 2025 took place in Napa Valley, California. Our speakers and guests came from 17 countries — as far away as Australia, South Korea, Indonesia, South Africa, India and Sweden — to share their personal journeys, their business insights and their plans for navigating a beauty industry in flux. Across a wide range of topics, expertly curated by executive editor Priya Rao, our Global Forum touched on a variety of subjects that spoke not just to the nuts and bolts of building and sustaining a beauty business, but also to the hearts and souls of everyone who joined us, creating a sense of shared humanity and solidarity amid the Trump Administration's anti-immigrant crackdown taking place not far away in Los Angeles. Lindsay Toczylowski, whose client Andry José Hernández Romero has not been heard from since his deportation to El Salvador in March, forcefully defended the rule of law in a talk at The Business of Beauty Global Forum. (for The Business of Fashion) In a defiant call to action, Lindsay Toczylowski, president and co-founder of the Immigrant Defenders Law Center, shared the story of Andry José Hernández Romero, a 31-year-old Venezuelan makeup artist who was seeking asylum in the US before he was deported to the notorious CECOT prison in El Salvador. Toczylowski explained why the deportation of undocumented immigrants without due process is a direct attack on democracy. 'The moment that we stop talking about Andry, about his story and others like him is the moment that the Trump administration is successful in completing the disappearance of Andry José Hernández Romero,' she said. Over the course of the two days we spent together, we also examined the findings of the second edition of The State of Fashion: Beauty report and gauged the untapped potential of AI on the beauty industry during our Knowledge Breakfasts, participated in breathwork classes and group workout sessions led by our friends Manoj Dias and Joe Holder, and exchanged ideas and personal stories over intimate meals under the midnight sky. (L-R) Imran Amed, Founder & CEO, The Business of Fashion and Tracee Ellis Ross, Owner/Founder/Co-CEO, Pattern Beauty speak onstage at "Inside the Industry" during The Business of Beauty Global Forum 2025 presented by The Business of Fashion at Stanly Ranch on June 10, 2025 in Napa, California. (Getty Images for The Business of Fashion) Our two headliners Hailey Bieber and Tracee Ellis Ross may have been what helped draw the crowds and media attention, but not only did Hailey and Tracee demonstrate the same kind of passion, dedication and obsession of all true founders, they also helped bring deserved awareness and appreciation to scores of other executives, founders and creatives who are making their mark in beauty. This was especially true for our finalists for The Business of Beauty Global Awards 2025 , supported by L'Oréal Groupe and Sephora. Now in its second year, the Global Awards expanded to recognise six founders across three categories: Creative Execution, Business Innovation and Positive Impact in two tracks: emerging businesses with less than $2 million in annual revenues and breakthrough businesses with up to $10 million in revenue. In the end, our gongs went to Akt London, Commune, Manasi 7, Ruka, Unifrom and Yse Beauty. We look forward to sharing in-depth profiles of these budding entrepreneurs and their businesses next week on The Business of Beauty. Priya Rao and Hailey Bieber speak during at the "Connection in the Age of Disruption" discussion during The Business of Beauty Global Forum 2025 presented by The Business of Fashion at Stanly Ranch on June 10, 2025 in Napa, California. (Getty Images for The Business of Fashion) And this week on The BoF Podcast, I'm pleased to share Priya's conversation with Hailey Bieber, her first live conversation since selling her business to E.l.f. in a $1 billion deal last month. There's no doubt this is just the beginning for The Business of Beauty. I could not be more proud of our entire team. In three short years, they have made this the most meaningful and sought-after event in the global beauty industry. We're already thinking about how to make next year's Global Forum even better. Have a great weekend, Imran Amed, Founder and Editor in Chief Below are my top picks from our analysis on fashion, luxury and beauty this week: 1. Garment Workers Are at Risk. Fashion Can't Afford to Look Away. The Trump administration is rapidly stepping up immigration raids in US cities, touching off protests and legal challenges. Even if brands aren't willing to weigh in publicly, they need a plan to support their workforce. (Getty Images) 2. The State of Fashion: Beauty Report — Solving the Growth Puzzle. Beauty's era of effortless growth is giving way to a more complex landscape. Download the second volume of BoF and McKinsey & Company's industry report to learn how to navigate evolving consumer expectations, market deceleration and regional volatility in the years ahead. 3. How to Acquire Customers with Instagram Ads in 2025. As paid marketing on Meta gets cheaper and easier to target customers, brands are getting more strategic about the content that attracts consumers at different points in their shopping journey. (BoF Collage) 4. Why Chanel Is Getting Into the Recycling Business. The French luxury giant is launching a new circularity focused venture with investments in waste management and recycling companies, much as it has bought up top-end ateliers in a decades-long push to future-proof its supply chain. (Chanel) 5. Why Lace and Crochet Are Everywhere Right Now. Brands from Magda Butrym to Chloé are appealing to shoppers with delicate handwork that's nostalgic and romantic, providing a contrast to fast fashion and the minimalism of quiet luxury. (BoF Team) This Weekend on The BoF Podcast When Hailey Bieber launched her beauty and skincare brand Rhode in 2022, it quickly built a loyal customer base and achieved rapid commercial success. By early 2025, Rhode had generated $212 million in annual sales and, in May, was acquired by E.l.f. Beauty in a landmark $1 billion deal. 'Rhode is not just about the product; it's the whole entire world of Rhode. I want people to feel something when they get the products. When they use it, I want them to feel that they are a part of something,' Bieber shared this week at The Business of Beauty Global Forum 2025 in Napa Valley, California. 'I really do see us being a legacy brand. Rhode is going to go down as one of the greats.' In her first public appearance since the acquisition, Hailey spoke with The Business of Beauty's executive editor Priya Rao about launching her brand, how the deal with E.l.f. transpired, and her vision for the future of Rhode. To receive this email in your inbox each Saturday, sign up to The Daily Digest newsletter for agenda-setting intelligence, analysis and advice that you won't find anywhere else.
Yahoo
24-05-2025
- Politics
- Yahoo
Father ripped from family as agents target immigration courts, arresting people after cases dismissed
The man just had his immigration case dismissed and his wife and 8-year-old son were trailing behind him when agents surrounded, then handcuffed him outside the downtown Los Angeles courtroom. Erick Eduardo Fonseca Solorzano stood speechless. His wife trembled in panic. The federal agents explained in Spanish that he would be put into expedited removal proceedings. Just moments earlier on Friday, Judge Peter A. Kim had issued a dismissal of his deportation case. Now his son watched in wide-eyed disbelief as agents quickly shuffled him to a service elevator — and he was gone. The boy was silent, sticking close by his mother, tears welling. 'This kid will be traumatized for life,' said Lindsay Toczylowski, chief executive and co-founder of Immigrant Defenders Law Center, who reached out to the family to help them with their case. Similar scenes are taking place across the country as government lawyers dismiss immigrants' deportation cases only to have them immediately arrested by agents as they leave the courtroom to be removed on a fast track that does not involve a judicial review. The courthouse arrests escalate the administration's efforts to speed up deportations. Migrants who can't prove they have been in the U.S. for more than two years are eligible to be deported without a hearing before a judge. Historically, these expedited removals were done only at the border, but the Trump administration has sought to expand their use. The policies are being challenged in court. 'Secretary [Kristi] Noem is reversing Biden's catch-and-release policy that allowed millions of unvetted illegal aliens to be let loose on American streets," said a senior official from the Department of Homeland Security. The official said most immigrants who entered the U.S. illegally within the last two years "are subject to expedited removals." But he noted that if they have a valid credible fear claim, as required by law, they will continue in immigration proceedings. Toczylowski said it was Fonseca Solorzano's first appearance in court. Like many of those apprehended this week, Fonseca Solorzano arrived in the United States from Honduras via CPB One, an application set up during the Biden administration that provided asylum seekers a way to enter the country legally after going through a background check. More than 900,000 people were allowed in the country on immigration parole under the app, starting in January 2023. The Trump administration has turned the tool into a self-deportation app. "We are punishing the people who are following the rules, who are doing what the government asks them to do," Toczylowski said. "I think that this practice certainly seemed to have shaken up some of the court staff, because it's so unusual and because it's such bad policy to be doing this, considering who it targets and the ripple effects that it will have, it'll cause people to be afraid to come to court." A Times reporter witnessed three arrests on Friday in the windowless court hallways on the eighth floor of the Federal Building downtown. An agent in plain clothes in the courtroom came out to signal to agents in the hallway, one wearing a red flannel shirt, when an immigrant subject to detainment was about to exit. "No, please," cried Gabby Gaitan, as half a dozen agents swarmed her boyfriend and handcuffed him. His manila folder of documents spilled onto the floor. She crumpled to the ground in tears. 'Where are they taking him?' Richard Pulido, a 25-year-old Venezuelan, had arrived at the border last fall and was appearing for the first time, she said. He had been scared about attending the court hearing, but she told him missing it would make his situation worse. Gaitan said Pulido came to the U.S. last September after fleeing violence in his home country. An immigrant from Kazakhstan, who asked the judge not to dismiss his case without success, walked out of the courtroom. On a bench across from the doors, two immigration agents nodded at each other and one mouthed, 'Let's go.' They stood quickly and called out to the man. They directed him off to the side and behind doors that led to a service elevator. He looked defeated, head bowed, as they searched him, handcuffed him and shuffled him into the service elevator. Lawyers, who were at courthouses in Santa Ana and Los Angeles this week, say it appears that the effort was highly coordinated between Homeland Security lawyers and federal agents. Families and lawyers have described similar accounts in Miami, Seattle, New York, San Diego, Chicago and elsewhere. During the hearing for Pulido, Homeland Security lawyer Carolyn Marie Thompkins explicitly stated that the case would be dismissed because the government planned on deporting Pulido. 'The government intends to pursue expedited removal in this case,' she said. Pulido appeared confused as to what a dismissal would mean and asked the judge for clarity. Pulido opposed having his case dropped. 'I feel that I can contribute a lot to this country,' he said. Kim said it was not enough and dismissed the case. The courthouse arrests have frustrated immigrant rights advocates who say the rules of the game are changing daily for migrants trying to work within the system. "Immigration court should be a place where people go to present their claims for relief, have them assessed, get an up or down on whether they can stay and have that done in a way that affords them due process," said Talia Inlender, deputy director at the Center for Immigration Law and Policy at UCLA School of Law School. "That is being ripped away sort of at every turn. "It's another attempt by the Trump administration to stoke fear in the community. And it specifically appears to be targeting people who are doing the right thing, following exactly what the government has asked them to do," she said. Sign up for Essential California for news, features and recommendations from the L.A. Times and beyond in your inbox six days a week. This story originally appeared in Los Angeles Times.
The Guardian
22-05-2025
- Politics
- The Guardian
Ice arrests at immigration courts across the US stirring panic: ‘It's terrifying'
Federal authorities have arrested people at US immigration courts from New York to Arizona to Washington state in what appears to be a coordinated operation, as the Trump administration ramps up the president's mass deportation campaign. On Tuesday, agents who identified themselves only as federal officers arrested multiple people at an immigration court in Phoenix, taking people into custody outside the facility, according to immigrant advocates. In Miami on Wednesday, Juan Serrano, a 28-year-old who immigrated from Colombia, went to court for a quick check-in where a judge soon told him he was free to go. When he left the courtroom, federal agents waiting outside cuffed him and placed him in a van with several other immigrants detained that day. Journalists, advocates and attorneys reported seeing Ice agents poised to make arrests this week at immigration courthouses in Los Angeles, Phoenix, New York, Seattle, Chicago and Texas. Arrests near or in the immigration courts, which are part of the US Department of Justice, are typically rare – in part due to concerns that the fear of being detained by Ice officers could discourage people from appearing. 'It's bad policy,' said Lindsay Toczylowski, president of the Immigrant Defenders Law Center (ImmDef). 'By putting immigration officers in the courtrooms, they're discouraging people from following the processes, punishing people for following the rules.' Toczylowski noted several Ice officers both inside and outside an immigration courtroom in Los Angles this week, but said she did not see any arrests made there. She said that immigrants without lawyers are especially vulnerable, as they may not understand the exact information and context they need to provide in order to advance their case for asylum or other pathways to permanent residency in the US. ImmDef and other legal groups are sending attorneys to courtrooms they believe may be targeted by Ice officials, to try to provide basic legal education and aid to people appearing at required appointments. The presence of agents is stirring panic, she said. 'People are being detained and handcuffed in the hallway,' she said. 'Can you imagine what you would be thinking, if you're waiting there with your family and children, about to see a judge? It's terrifying.' The agents' targeting of immigrants at court comes as the Trump administration faces multiple lawsuits and the president attempts to enact the large-scale deportations he promised during his campaign. 'All this is to accelerate detentions and expedite removals,' said Wilfredo Allen, an immigration attorney with decades of experience representing immigrants at the Miami immigration court. The Trump administration has revived a 2019 policy that allows for 'expedited removals' – fast-tracked deportation proceedings for people who have been in the US for less than two years. Immigrants who cannot prove that they have been in the US for longer than two years are subject to having their cases dismissed and being immediately expelled from the country. Under the Biden administration, expedited removals were limited to people apprehended within 100 miles (160km) of the US border, and who had been in the US for less than two weeks. In Phoenix, immigrant advocates gathered outside immigration court to protest the presence of Ice agents. 'We witnessed parents and children being detained and abducted into unmarked vans immediately after attending their scheduled immigration proceedings,' said Monica Sandschafer, the Arizona state director for the advocacy group Mi Familia Vota. 'We demand an immediate stop to these hateful tactics.' Three US immigration officials told the Associated Press on the condition of anonymity that government attorneys were given the order to start dismissing cases when they showed up for work Monday, and were aware that federal agents would then be able to arrest those individuals when they left the courtroom. In the case of Serrano in Miami, the request for dismissal was delivered by a government attorney who spoke without identifying herself on the record, the Associated Press reported. She refused to provide her name to the AP and quickly exited the courtroom. US Immigration and Customs Enforcement said in a statement this week that it was detaining people who are subject to fast-track deportation authority. Advocates and lawyers are advising immigrants with upcoming hearings or court appearances to bring a trusted family member or friend who is a US citizen and ideally, a lawyer, to their appointments. The Associated Press contributed
