By Nick Valencia | November 3, 2025
LOS ANGELES— As dusk settled over the Los Angeles skyline and chants echoed off the walls of the Metropolitan Detention Center, federal officers moved in on a familiar crowd of protesters.
Among them was 29-year-old activist Alex Alott, who had spent the better part of the summer standing outside the federal facility, documenting the quiet churn of deportation machinery that most Angelenos never see.
It was July 24th—the eve of her birthday. Instead of celebrating, Alott found herself behind bars for five days, accused of assaulting a federal officer with a deadly weapon.
The weapon, according to prosecutors, was a 15-ounce umbrella.
“We use umbrellas to defend each other from bear mace and pepper balls and less-lethal ammunition like rubber bullets and foam rounds,” Alott told Nick Valencia News in a recent interview.
“Three Federal Protective Service officers testified against me. All three of them perjured themselves on the stand, trying to say I used my umbrella as a sword, not a shield.”
The absurdity of the charge—an umbrella classified as a weapon—became emblematic of what many activists describe as a pattern of federal overreach. Initially, prosecutors brought a felony charge against Alott, but a grand jury rejected it. The government then returned with a federal misdemeanor, which does not require grand jury approval. To Alott and her supporters, it was a procedural sleight of hand designed to make an example out of her.
Alott’s case, like those of other demonstrators swept up in the crackdown, revealed the heavy hand of an administration intent on optics over justice. The charges were brought under Bill Essayli, a federal prosecutor who, according to a judge’s ruling referenced in Politico reporting last week, currently holds his position unlawfully.
“Orders come from the top to charge protesters caught up in some bullshit case,” said Daniel Sosa, a small business owner and longtime friend of Alott’s. “Even when the evidence shows they did nothing—which is what happened with Alexandria—they go after them anyway. It’s about headlines, not justice.”
Sosa has been part of the small group that has maintained a near-daily vigil outside the MDC since early June, when federal immigration raids began intensifying across Southern California. Alongside him is Cattie Lafoon, a photographer who has chronicled the protests and the tightly knit community that’s formed around them.
“Alex was always there early—four, five in the morning,” Lafoon said. “She once saw women and children, their feet and hands chained, being loaded into buses in the dark. It was obvious they didn’t want anyone to see what they were doing. Those photos got out, and the feds didn’t like it.”
When reached for comment, a law enforcement official with knowledge of the operations disputed that characterization.
“Regarding the moving at early morning hours, there’s nothing suspicious about that at all,” the official told Nick Valencia News. “They are shackled and handcuffed into vans, not buses, and move from A to B. It makes far more sense to do it when there’s less people impeding their work in the early morning hours, but there’s absolutely nothing whatsoever suspicious about that. It is completely normal process.”
The activists pushed back, saying the official’s statement missed the point. According to them, officers already knew the regular protesters outside the facility. After Alott’s photos went viral, they believe she became a target of retaliation.
“That’s what it feels like,” Lafoon said. “They knew exactly who we were. Those pictures went everywhere, and after that, everything changed.”
For Lafoon and others, that early-morning scene marked a turning point—the moment Alott realized she wasn’t just confronting an administration, but an entire system that thrives in darkness.
“They don’t like or appreciate us being out there,” Alott said. “One officer even threatened me an hour before my arrest. We found the video—he pointed at me and said, ‘You’re next.’ 45 minutes later, I was in cuffs.”
Alott’s story mirrors those of other protesters who say they’ve been targeted, intimidated, and overcharged in an effort to silence dissent. Yet in court, the government’s case collapsed. After five days in custody and a federal trial, Alott was found not guilty by a unanimous jury of 12.
For Sosa, the outcome only underscored the waste—of time, money, and public trust.
“They targeted her. They singled her out. They assaulted her and then charged her with assault. All for what? To lose in court. It’s a waste of public resources, and it’s not how federal power should be used.”
When asked if she planned to step back from activism, Alott didn’t hesitate.
“I think the federal government is a very small portion of our population, but they cast a big shadow,” she said. “They’re trying to make themselves look larger and more powerful than they really are. But the light of the people—that’s what’s going to expose them.”
For Alott, the umbrella has become more than a shield—it’s a symbol. Of protection. Of resistance. Of how fragile and yet unbreakable ordinary people can be when the state turns its gaze on them.
