Any day now, Noemi Gongora knows border patrol agents can snatch her up from the streets and send her back to El Salvador, a country she fled more than 30 years ago.
But every morning, she steps out of the small bedroom she rents for $550 a month and goes to work for a street vendor selling cocteles de curiles — clam cocktails.
The stand, one of dozens at the marketplace, sits along a busy road near the border of Koreatown and Pico Union, two densely populated neighborhoods with a large number of Korean and Central American immigrants, an area likely to be targeted by federal agents.
Gongora, 64, knows this and that the $50 she makes a day is not worth the risk of deportation but there is still a life to be lived and bills to pay, and above all, she needs the money for the medication she uses to manage her cholesterol and diabetes. Medicine that is starting to run out.
Everyday, thousands of street vendors set up shop on a piece of pavement in Los Angeles and beyond to make a living and create a path out of poverty or have their own bricks-and-mortar one day. These self-starters are American citizens, immigrants living in the country legally and illegally, and are part of a $504-million industry in L.A., according to estimates from the Economic Roundtable, a nonprofit public policy research organization.
But the immigration raids that are taking place across the city, sparking protests, sporadic violence and the rare deployment of the National Guard and U.S. Marines have brought economic hardship, forcing vendors who are illegally in the country to choose between staying home safely or risking deportation to provide for themselves and their families.
“They’re fearful of stepping out of their home,” said Gloria Medina of Strategic Concepts in Organizing and Policy Education, a grassroots organization based in South L.A. ”Some [families] have made a decision that one will stay at home and one will risk going to work because if one is risking going to work and gets caught up in a raid, at least there is one parent at home that children can come back to and those are really hard decisions folks have to make.”
Medina said some families are afraid of falling into debt as they’re unable to pay bills. There are also expenses like college tuition for their kids, medicine for chronic diseases and caring for their elderly parents.
She said some parents send their U.S.-born children to pay the utility bills, which comes with its own risks.
“Yes, my teenage son or daughter can go and run these errands for the family so that we can, you know, keep the gas on and keep the lights on and the water running,” Medina said. “But there’s still a fear of making sure that they’re not going to be mistakenly kidnapped or snatched up in a raid.”
Some of those hardships extend to workers who go door-to-door to sell products for companies such as Avon and Mary Kay.
Daniel Flaming of the Economic Roundtable said street vendors play a crucial role in the local economy, purchasing products from suppliers and selling them.
“I think the reality is that street vendors have been marginalized and it would be horrifying to be out there in the street with a cart when ICE guys are roaming around looking for folks to pick up,” he said. “Their carts are an important equity to them and it seems like they’re at risk of being handcuffed and having their carts become abandoned property.”
In a statement to The Times, the office of Los Angeles Councilmember Eunisses Hernandez, whose district includes Koreatown and Pico-Union, said it has been working with immigrant rights organizations and day labor centers to host “Know Your Rights” workshops, distribute flyers to businesses and deliver groceries to people who are afraid to leave home.
Additionally, her office said it has been organizing other safety events to train people on how to deal with federal agents.
Earlier this year, Sen. Maria Elena Durazo (D-Los Angeles) introduced Senate Bill 635 that aims to prevent immigration enforcement agents from accessing street vendor data collected by local governments, prohibiting sidewalk vending programs from inquiring the immigration status of vendors and prohibiting code enforcement officers from assisting federal agents.
“Street vendors are pivotal to California’s culture and economy, and nationally they have been huge contributors to their communities,” she said in a written statement. “Now more than ever, California must come together to uplift and empower microbusinesses across the State.”
The bill was also co-sponsored by several groups including Inclusive Action for the City, the Coalition for Humane Immigrant Rights of Los Angeles, Community Power Collective and the Public Counsel among others.
Since then, individuals and groups have stepped up efforts to assist vendors. Among them is K-Town for All, a volunteer-led grassroots organization that serves Koreatown’s homeless community.
In recent weeks, the group has raised tens of thousands of dollars to help vendors with their wages, bills and other expenses and has helped 80 families so far, according to the group’s Instagram account.
“We’ll buy out our immigrant vendors so they can afford to stay safe at home and provide our unhoused neighbors with fresh, filling delicious food,” a June 11 post read. “No one should have to risk getting kidnapped just to provide for their families.”
Though the immigration raids have taken a toll on families, they have also shown how people come together to protect the most vulnerable, said Medina, the executive director of SCOPE.
“As we’re seeing so much ugliness and hate and how its been manifesting in our communities, at the same time we’re seeing unity, joy and mutual aid,” she said. “It’s a beautiful thing that we need to elevate.”
In Canoga Park, some 25 miles from Koreatown, Jackie Sandoval, 25, loaded pans and utensils into a van at the end of a workday. Sandoval sells empanadas, costilla de puerco — pork ribs — and other dishes at her sidewalk stand. She said the usual vendors that line up next to her on the block are staying home because of the immigration raids.
“They aren’t selling because they are scared,” she said.
Lyzzeth Mendoza, a senior organizer with Community Power Collective, which advocates for vendors, said nearly all of the 500 vendors that her group works with are undocumented or are in the process of seeking to become U.S. citizens.
Since the immigration sweeps, about half of the vendors are going out, she said. In some neighborhoods, even the American citizens are staying home, hurting vendors’ business.
“There’s definitely a chill effect,” Mendoza said.
Maritza Hernandez, 47, has worked as a vendor for two decades and sells crepes from a stand in the San Fernando Valley.
She said the raids have made her feel angry and powerless.
“We’re easy targets,” she wrote in an email.
A Mexican national, Hernandez said she has to help pay the medical bills of mother and stepfather, who are also street vendors. But working in the U.S., she has helped put her children on a path out of poverty. She said one son graduated from Brown — an Ivy League university — and is pursuing a nursing career; the other son is studying at Los Angeles Trade-Technical College to become a chef.
“We don’t want to be a burden on the country,” she wrote. “We’re contributing, paying our taxes, being good citizens, educating ourselves and our children so that tomorrow they can return and contribute to their communities.”
Even before the raids, some vendors faced pushback in the neighborhoods where they operated, with business owners and residents saying they were unlicensed and dumping grease into the sewer system and leaving food on the sidewalk.
Los Angeles City Councilmember Imelda Padilla, who represents Van Nuys, Panorama City, Lake Balboa and other neighborhoods in the Valley, said that her office has seen a decrease in the number of vendors in the district since the raids.
“They face tough decisions, balancing the fear of increased ICE activity with the urgent need to support their loved ones,” she said.
But not all vendors fear deportation. In MacArthur Park, Manuel Guarchaj, 52, sat next to a white van last week selling produce to residents of a nearby apartment complex.
The immigration raids, he said, have scared away customers.
“I used to get 80 to 100 people a day,” he said. “Now, maybe 40. People are afraid.”
He said he’s not afraid if immigration agents catch him and deport him back to Guatemala, mostly because his children are all grown up and have their own families.
“I came to this country by the grace of God,” he said. “And it will be by that same grace that I’ll return home.”
Back at the marketplace sitting by the edge of Koreatown and Pico-Union, Gongora rushed to tend to a customer. The sun was melting the ice keeping his bags of sour cream cool, and the fruit was becoming discolored with flies beginning to circle.
Few customers were at the marketplace. Among them was Brie Monroy, 45, who traveled more than an hour from San Bernardino with her mom, niece and nephew to visit and support the vendors.
“I wasn’t sure if they were going to be here,” she said.
But Monroy had not stopped by Gongora’s stand, who worried that if no customers came by, she may be out of a job with no family to help her.
Six years ago, her husband died of kidney disease, just five months after burying her brother-in-law.
“Everything fell apart after that,” she said. “I was sad and cried a lot; I got sick and lost the house the three of us once shared.”
Alone with no family, she began working for street vendors to survive. Now the raids are putting that lifeline at risk along with her health. She’s down to a couple weeks worth of pills to manage her diabetes and cholesterol and is reluctant to go out and get more.
“I haven’t gone because of the immigration raids,” she said.
Short in stature and wearing a blue apron, Gongora let out a big sigh and cried, using her fingers to wipe her tears.
“It’s been so difficult,” she said.
A few feet from her, the woman she works with asked her to double-check an order with a customer. As quickly as the tears had come, they stopped. Gongora excused herself and power walked past several vendors until she reached the customer to complete the sale.
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