The Battle To Belong

Los Angeles, CA
June 15, 2025

It’s been a week or so since Los Angeles—and the cities that make up L.A. County—began to fight back against the current administration: its inhumane agenda against the undocumented, and documented Black and Brown communities of our beloved city. People from my community are being abducted without due process. Masked men and women with no real authority are overstepping any semblance of law and order.

I was at my parents' home in South Gate the other day. The bars on the windows that I once saw as a metaphor for the limitations of my own life now afford us some sense of security against these federally sanctioned, illegal home invasions. I looked out the window and recalled a memory from my childhood. I was sitting on the hardwood floor of our old Victorian rental in what is now known as University Park, near Pico-Union. We lived there happily for some time, under the shadow of the 110, just off Washington and Figueroa.

On that day, my parents quietly discussed not wanting to go shopping downtown. They had heard of several immigration raids in the area since the beginning of the week. I was just sitting there off to the side, playing with my Hot Wheels—cars my dad had found at work. I remember hearing some concern in their voices, but I didn’t think much of it. Fear of La Migra, the I.N.S., now I.C.E., had just become part of life—for Mexicans, Mexicanos, Mexicanas, Mexican-Americans, Chicanos, Chicanas, Latinos, Latinas, Latinx.

I shrugged it off. After all, it wasn’t all terrifying—or maybe we just developed the ability to turn the terrifying into something comical in order to cope with the inhumanity. For example: my mom thinking UPS drivers were actually I.N.S. agents, and she would run away at the sight of their brown trucks. My dad was once deported and flown deep into Mexico in hopes he’d never think of coming back. That trip was his first time on a plane—courtesy of the American government. We all laughed at these recountings of our time in Mexican-America. 

That conversation was sometime in 1983. I was 7 years old. Thinking back, it may have been the first time I consciously felt this collective unwantedness from the country we called home. I would feel it again throughout my life. Sometimes in small ways, other times in much more impactful ways. One of the small things came in 1984 when we moved to South Gate. Around the same time, the longtime white residents began moving out—to Orange County, Las Vegas, and Phoenix. Leo, the one friendly white, retired neighbor we had when we moved in, would move out soon after. He was the only person to welcome us. He always tried to speak with my parents in their broken English, asking about their day or our weekend plans.

One day I overheard him telling my dad he was leaving. He said the neighborhood wasn’t safe anymore. Said it was “changing.” That micro-aggression was lost on my dad and me at the time. I didn’t understand what had changed about the neighborhood until much later. He had wanted my parents to buy his house and rent it out—it would’ve meant a third income for us—but my parents were already overwhelmed with their own mortgage and politely declined. That was in 1986.

For a while, things were quiet. Growing up, my biggest obstacles were the local gangs and not being able to talk to girls. Gang members constantly asked me where I was from—what set did I claim? All I could say was:

I’m from nowhere. I said this often. I’m from nowhere. I’m from nowhere. I am from nowhere.

The psychological effects of that would stay with me for a long time. As for the girls—I ran the other way whenever one tried to talk to me. Kind of like my mom running from those UPS trucks. Life goes on. 

1992—The Los Angeles Uprising to some.
The L.A. Riots to others.
The murder of Latasha Harlins and the beating of Rodney King lit the spark to the powder keg that was early ’90s L.A.

Then in 1994, we came under fire yet again. This time it was Pete Wilson and his PROP 187 initiative—Save Our State, as they called it. This city seems to be in constant turbulence, and for those of us who are its spiritual center, its soul—we remain in constant danger and assault. Our presence remains illegal. Unwanted.

On October 16, 1994, I marched against Prop 187 along with 70,000 others near Los Angeles City Hall. It was my first time being “political.” I felt engaged, energized, and hopeful. It felt good to stand up for myself—for my family—for our rights. I never thought the law would pass.

Yet, on November 9, 1994, California voters passed Proposition 187. The initiative aimed to restrict undocumented immigrants from accessing public services—education, healthcare. It even ordered teachers and doctors to report suspected undocumented individuals to INS or the California Attorney General. With no guidelines on how to "suspect" someone’s status, it gave license to racial profiling. Brown skin became criminal.

The proposition passed during a time of economic recession. Immigrants were scapegoated. Governor Wilson wanted immediate implementation. He ordered hospitals and schools to turn people away. But legal challenges followed swiftly—MALDEF, the ACLU, CHIRLA all stepped in. They argued that Prop 187 violated Plyler v. Doe (1982), which had guaranteed undocumented children access to education. Soon after, a federal judge issued an injunction until a legal review could be executed, leading to disputes on both sides.  Protests erupted across the state across many colleges and universities. Eventually, the courts ruled the proposition unconstitutional under the Equal Protection Clause of the 14th Amendment, which protects any individual regardless of citizenship status.  Prop 187 was dead—at least legally, but the legacy of hate continues. 

By the late ’90s, California’s economic boom helped dull the memory of Prop 187, but the damage was done—and other states, like Arizona, would follow suit in time. Life goes on.

In 2004 I was at CalArts, working on my thesis film and teaching documentary practices and techniques at Belmont High. More anti-immigrant rhetoric was rising across the country at the time. I joined rallies against the raids, and in support of the AG Jobs Bill. Some of my students came with me—interviewing participants, documenting their stories. More battles to be fought. 

Then came Arizona’s SB 1070 in 2010. A more aggressive Prop 187. This time, I was older, savvier, maybe more jaded. I suspected it would be overturned by the courts—and it was. Still, the rage was real. The pain at this continued persecution is real.  

Present day Los Angeles.

I think of that day playing on the floor as a kid hearing my parents in a hush, a whisper about not going downtown. Fearing the raids. Fearing being seen. That may have been the first time I became aware that my very existence was somehow against the law.

Despite being an American citizen—and now 49 years old—my presence continues to be illegal. Unwanted.

We continue the battle to belong.

Los Angeles, CA
June 16 2025

This morning I woke at six for the job I’ve held for fifteen years at the University of California, Irvine. Nausea crept in as I dressed, turning into fear—the same intrinsic fear my parents felt in 1983: fear of being taken, of being taken from my life, my wife, my children.

My parents became citizens in the ’90s. With limited education and working-class jobs, they fought to buy a home and give their three kids a better life. I was born here, earned degrees, work a white-collar job, and still struggled to buy a home, still fight for my children’s future. Forty years on, what has changed?

On my way to the 5 freeway, I stopped at a red light. In the next lane, an older Mexican man sat in an old battered truck, his cargo of rusted metal tied precariously by an old weathered rope. He looked over, nodded acknowledging my presence. I nodded back.

An acknowledgment. A quiet solidarity. A reminder.

Our anger—unresolved.

Works Cited

“Research Guides: A Latinx Resource Guide: Civil Rights Cases and Events in the United States: 1994: California's Proposition 187.” Library of Congress Research Guides, https://guides.loc.gov/latinx-civil-rights/california-proposition-187. Accessed 14 June 2025.

Plyler v. Doe, 457 U.S. 202 (1982).

“SB 1070.” American Civil Liberties Union, https://www.aclu.org/cases/sb-1070. Accessed 14 June 2025.

“California Proposition 187, Illegal Aliens Ineligible for Public Benefits (1994).” Ballotpedia, https://ballotpedia.org/California_Proposition_187,_Illegal_Aliens_Ineligible_for_Public_Benefits_(1994). Accessed 14 June 2025.

MALDEF (Mexican American Legal Defense and Educational Fund). “MALDEF Challenges Proposition 187.” MALDEF.org, https://www.maldef.org/prop-187/. Accessed 14 June 2025.

“Immigration Reform and Control Act (IRCA) of 1986.” U.S. Citizenship and Immigration Services, https://www.uscis.gov/history-and-genealogy/our-history/immigration-reform-and-control-act-irca-of-1986. Accessed 14 June 2025.

Los Angeles Times. “Timeline: The 1992 Los Angeles Riots.” Los Angeles Times, 29 Apr. 2012, https://www.latimes.com/local/la-me-riotstimeline-htmlstory.html. Accessed 14 June 2025.

Arizona v. United States, 567 U.S. 387 (2012).