"We're Still Here, We Belong Here": Los Angeles Immigrants Share Stories as Migration Debates Intensify

On a Tuesday afternoon at MacArthur Park, where vendors sell pupusas and tamales to crowds speaking a dozen languages, Raúl Hernández sits on a bench watching children play near the lake. The 47-year-old construction worker arrived in Los Angeles from El Salvador twenty-three years ago. Today, as migration becomes a flashpoint in national politics, he reflects on what it means to call this city home.

"People talk about us like we're problems to solve," Hernández said, his Spanish-accented English deliberate and measured. "But we're teachers, nurses, small business owners. We're here because we work."

Across Los Angeles—a city where nearly 37 percent of residents were born outside the United States—community members are speaking out about their experiences navigating a climate of uncertainty. The Los Angeles County Federation of Labor estimates that immigrants comprise roughly 40 percent of the county's workforce, contributing an estimated $4.2 billion annually in state and local taxes.

At the Central American Resource Center on Alvarado Street in Koreatown, coordinator María López fielded questions from clients about documentation updates and legal resources. "What we hear from people is fear," López explained. "Fear about family separation, about accessing services they've been paying into for decades."

The organization has seen a 34 percent increase in service requests over the past eighteen months, reflecting broader anxieties rippling through predominantly Latino neighborhoods like Boyle Heights, Lincoln Heights, and El Pueblo. Average rent in these areas has climbed to $1,650 for a one-bedroom apartment—rates that many immigrant families on service-sector wages struggle to afford.

Yet voices from these communities also express resilience and determination. At a community meeting in Highland Park last week, organized by the Coalition for Humane Immigrant Rights, residents discussed their contributions to Los Angeles's cultural fabric and economic vitality.

"We've built this city," said one participant, a nurse at Cedars-Sinai Medical Center who requested anonymity. "During the pandemic, we showed up. We showed who we are."

These conversations underscore a reality often absent from national debates: Los Angeles's identity is inseparable from its immigrant communities. As policy discussions continue in Washington, the voices from neighborhoods across this sprawling metropolis remind us that migration is not abstract—it's deeply personal, deeply local, and deeply woven into the city's present and future.

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