Lea esta historia en español.

In January, El Tímpano attended the second annual memorial for the seven farmworkers killed in a mass shooting in Half Moon Bay. For myself and reporter Jasmine Aguilera—both from El Paso, Texas, a border city shaped by mass violence and the constant presence of immigration enforcement—the gathering carried added weight. The memorial followed a familiar rhythm, but the gravity of the threat of immigration raids lingered in the air and in the back of our minds. While Jasmine and I stayed alert on the periphery, those present stood firmly in place, singing, listening, and honoring the dead with certainty and resolve. Observing their bravery in the face of uncertainty left an indelible mark that’s stayed with me.

That same courage surfaced throughout the year as people opened their lives to be featured in our reporting despite the threat of federal immigration enforcement. Elida Pérez, originally from Guatemala, chose to share her name and face for photographs while she recounted abuse, life as an undocumented immigrant, and the isolation of the pandemic, all while knowing full well that this kind of visibility could expose her to enforcement. Jorge shared his story while protecting parts of his identity, aware that even partial disclosure could put housing, work, and family stability at risk. We have taken steps to mitigate that risk through a strong source protection policy, but I am still struck by the bravery of the people we interview and their consent to be photographed. 

As we look back on this year in images, we are proud of the work, and deeply grateful to the community members whose courage made it possible.

Still healing from past traumas, Half Moon Bay farmworkers face new fears

Soaring housing costs make life even more challenging for Oakland’s unaccompanied minors

As safe spaces shrink, immigrant youth find solace in “the beautiful game”

A danger, not a Dreamer

Cut off from work and school by COVID, I rebuilt my life in California

The day the text never came

Preventing the next tragedy

As health care contracts in Trump era, undocumented immigrants run out of options

Mental health “bonfires” for Spanish-speaking immigrants emerge in unincorporated Alameda County