By Nick Valencia
LOS ANGELES — Standing under the towering skyscrapers of Downtown Los Angeles, a place now symbolic of the fears coursing through immigrant communities, a woman named Yolanda — who goes by “Yoli” — began to cry.
“That was the first time I ever walked out,” she said, her voice beginning to break. “I was a kid. Here I am now.” She paused, trying to collect herself. “History is just repeating itself. We have to remind people.”
It’s a sentiment I’ve heard again and again while covering this resistance movement. The setting may be different — 2025 instead of 1994 — but the pain, the fear, and the fight feel eerily familiar.
Thirty years ago, it was Proposition 187 in California. A sweeping anti-immigrant ballot initiative championed by Republican Governor Pete Wilson, which sought to bar undocumented immigrants from accessing public education, non-emergency healthcare, and other basic services.
It didn’t just pass — it passed in a landslide.
For many Latinos like Yoli, it was the first time they felt the sharp edges of American politics slice through their sense of belonging. And now, under the shadow of President Donald Trump’s second administration, those scars are being ripped open.
The Echo of 187
I was 11 years old when Prop 187 passed. I remember my parents glued to the news coverage. I watched as protesters marched out of schools in our neighborhood, carrying signs that read “We Are Not Criminals” and chanting loudly, “Vote No on 187.” It was striking.
Still in elementary school, I looked on and was left with the lasting impressions that once we hit middle school, our social activism is a requirement. Now, decades later, I find myself covering another moment of national reckoning. And I can’t help but draw the parallels.
Some of the language being used by critics of this movement is giving oxygen to the same brand of fear that once thrived in the Latino community under Governor Wilson.
In 1994, it was school registrars and hospital clerks being turned into immigration enforcers. Today, it’s buses of National Guard troops and “deportation task forces” patrolling the same streets I grew up on.
“It’s a Bunch of Bullshit”
“It breaks my heart when I see my kids being scared just to come to school,” said Velaska Perez, a third-grade teacher from Pomona. “Their education takes a step back when they’re worried their families are going to be taken by ICE.”
When I first saw her, Perez was among a handful of people gathered at the front entrance of the Metropolitan Detention Center. That afternoon, most demonstrators had clustered at the back entrance, where federal vehicles were arriving with newly detained immigrants. Perez stood defiantly at the front, watching as National Guard members lingered in the background.
“There’s no one illegal on land that wasn’t the colonizers’ to begin with,” she said. “Calling them ‘illegal’ and saying, ‘Do it the right way’? It’s a bunch of bullshit.”
Her friend, Alondra Hernandez — a first-generation Latina and fellow protester — echoed the exhaustion that comes with constantly having to justify your presence.
“I used to be ignorant,” she told me, holding back tears. “But I touched hands with my roots and realized what my parents went through. It took them two decades to gain legal residency. People act like it’s easy. It’s not.”
A Legacy of Resistance
Here’s the thing about Prop 187: it didn’t last. Courts blocked most of it. But its real legacy wasn’t the policy — it was the movement it birthed.
Latino voter turnout surged in the years that followed. Thousands of high school students walked out of class. Many of them, like Yoli, were politicized for the first time. Now, she’s back on the streets in 2025.
That spark is being lit again today. And it’s different now. These aren’t just scared kids. These are grown women, teachers, organizers — people who are tired, informed, and mobilized.
“We have to remind people,” Yoli told me again before walking away, wiping her eyes.
Remind them that we’ve been here before.
And most importantly, remind them: we’re still here.
Nick Valencia is a journalist based in Los Angeles. He is a former CNN correspondent and the founder of Nick Valencia News.