In the early hours of June 6, Cathedral City resident Luz Vargas and a companion spotted something concerning: a white van, apparently from Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE), along with a gathering of agents, in the parking lot of the old 99 Cents Only store on Date Palm Drive and Ramon Road.
After confirming her suspicions, she recorded the scene on her smartphone.
“We had just dropped my daughter off at school when we saw the van,” she said. “We returned to verify and noticed 20 to 25 agents, including Border Patrol, (Homeland Security) and (the Drug Enforcement Administration) meeting to plan their raids.”
As Vargas and her companion documented the situation, they may have shouted a few choice words to express their sentiments about the agents’ presence in their neighborhood. Although they didn’t have a concrete plan, they recognized the urgency in alerting those who could be affected.
Vargas’ footage was the first of numerous recordings that day that played a crucial role in reaching those capable of mobilizing. She shared the video with childhood friend Juan Espinoza, an attorney, who was outraged. Vargas recalled their conversation, the core of which was: “How is it that our community is being attacked by these agents—racially profiling people based on skin color and arresting them without warrants? These inhumane policies are tearing families apart.”
Vargas quickly designed bilingual flyers and, with his family’s support, organized a protest the following morning at the scene of the agents’ meeting. His sister remembered thinking, “Even if only five people show up, it’s a start.”
Meanwhile, federal agents conducted raids across the Coachella Valley, targeting locations they believed were frequented by undocumented individuals. Their actions directly contradicted the Trump administration’s stated focus on apprehending violent criminals—but this was no surprise. After all, Trump’s rhetoric has painted undocumented immigrants as criminals, snakes that bite, eating pets, coming from jails and mental institutions, causing crime in sanctuary cities, killing Americans en masse, and stealing Americans’ public benefits and jobs.
On June 12, under apparent pressure from leaders in the farming and hospitality industries, the Trump administration directed Immigration and Customs Enforcement to halt arrests at farms, restaurants and hotels amid growing concerns that the crackdown was harming these sectors. However, after the No Kings rallies on June 14, the president appeared to reverse course, giving ICE the green light to resume—especially in Democratic cities.
In a statement, Department of Homeland Security spokeswoman Tricia McLaughlin said: “The president has been incredibly clear. There will be no safe spaces for industries that harbor violent criminals or purposely try to undermine ICE’s efforts. Worksite enforcement remains a cornerstone of our efforts to safeguard public safety, national security, and economic stability. These operations target illegal employment networks that undermine American workers, destabilize labor markets, and expose critical infrastructure to exploitation.”
Eyewitness accounts and news reports regarding the June 6 ICE raids hinted at a chaotic operation lacking clear targets, instead indiscriminately approaching Latino men and demanding identification.
The community’s mobilization began rapidly after Vargas and others shared their videos. Around 11 a.m., I received a text from a friend alerting me to the immigration raids. As someone who has been involved in activism throughout my adult life, I felt compelled to act. Within minutes, I received another message about a press conference in Palm Desert at the RAP Foundation’s offices, organized by activists and community leaders.
The press conference—which also functioned as a call to action—was led by a dozen or so community organizers and activists from across the Inland Empire. Speakers included the head of the local chapter of the United Farm Workers union, Indio City Councilman Oscar Ortiz, representatives from TODEC (a nonprofit immigrant advocacy organization), the Danza Azteca Citlatonac Indigenous Culture Center, at least one pastor from an East Valley church, and others. Upon arriving at the press conference, I ran into my friend Gabby Armenta, who, along with her sister Citlali, founded Danza Azteca Citlatonac. The Armenta sisters have earned a well-deserved reputation for being the kind of individuals who give their all in their mission to spread cultural awareness and advocate for those in need.
I asked Gabby how everything had come together so quickly.
“We were fortunate to be in the right place at the right time,” she said. “While we were near Cathedral City, we received reports indicating that an ICE raid might be starting. We quickly communicated with our networks, including activists and members from Danza, Codepink and the Women’s March. Within 10-15 minutes, we had confirmation through videos and pictures showing a significant presence of Border Patrol agents arriving in civilian cars and preparing on-site, which seemed unusual.
“Our ability to coordinate a swift response stemmed from our experience as community organizers working with nonprofit organizations focused on social justice. We recognized that something was not right and immediately reached out to other organizers to gather more information and evidence. By noon, I received a call from one organization requesting support.”
By the time night fell in the Coachella Valley, the bilingual flyers created by Espinoza had been posted on social media. I couldn’t help but relate to the concerns of his sister, who worried about the turnout—especially since the protest, scheduled for the following morning, was being promoted late in the evening. That’s when I first heard about it.
I arrived at the old 99 Cents Only store at exactly 10 a.m., unsure of what to expect. As I pulled into the parking lot, I was surprised to see what looked like at least 100 people already lined up on the sidewalk, holding signs and chanting slogans from past and recent protest movements. Over the next 30 minutes, at least 200 more people arrived; at that point, I stopped counting. It was peaceful, well-organized and full of enthusiasm to unite.
A common narrative was shared by multiple representatives at the Friday afternoon press conference was: They had been expecting this for some time.
“President Trump said he was going to do it, and we took him at his word,” one speaker stated. “That’s why we’ve been preparing for this.”
Since June 6, protests have taken place from coast to coast. Trump has deployed the military to Los Angeles in order to quell protests—against the wishes of the governor and local officials.
On June 14, millions of Americans joined together in the “No Kings” protests, which may have been the largest mass protest in U.S. history—on the same day as the lackluster, low-energy, and poorly attended military parade and birthday celebration that President Trump held in Washington, D.C. There is an undeniable sense of urgency, and “No Kings” organizers have set July 17—in honor of Rep. John Lewis, a civil rights activist who died on that date in 2020—as the next protest date.
Regardless of political leanings or personal views on these unfolding events, it is clear we are living through extraordinary times. Local organizers have long anticipated the escalating actions of ICE—while others are only now beginning to awaken to the reality.
Esther Sanchez is a freelance journalist and photographer, and the lead vocalist for the desert punk band The After Lashes. She cut her activism teeth at South Central Farm and never turned back. She is a Coachella Valley native and descendant of the Muskogee Creek and Seminole nations.