Volunteers in Los Angeles: “We are the people saving ourselves”
A volunteer brigade affiliated with the Pasadena Community Job Center cleans up the City of Pasadena, California. Photo by Jesús Jank Curbelo for palabra
Among the most vulnerable members of the workforce, a group of day laborers — many of them Latino immigrants — went out into the streets of Los Angeles as volunteers to help with cleanup efforts in the wake of the fires. Journalist Jesús Jank Curbelo joined them for a shift.
Editor’s note: This is a personal essay that reflects the views and perspectives of the author.
Haz clic aquí para leer este reportaje en español.
Today, January 28, I am part of the team of volunteers who will clean up the city of Los Angeles, California. I’m almost late because the subway ran slowly due to the large number of people who got on so early. It is 7:50 a.m., and everyone is ready to go. The line of debris removal trucks is parked in a parallel line in front of the Pasadena Community Job Center, the starting point every morning.
Eduardo, the brigade chief (his last name has been omitted to protect his identity due to his legal status) gives me time to pick up my uniform, a long-sleeved orange t-shirt with the word “volunteer” on the back and the phrase “only the people save the people” on the front. We are the people saving ourselves. We work without pay in the free hours that each one has for the desire to help. The boss also gives me time to pick up two chicken burritos. María Zamorano, a very sensitive woman, hands them to me. Her eyes fill with tears when I tell her that today I’m here not as a journalist, but as a volunteer. She too is a volunteer. I interviewed her the day before and she also ended up with teary eyes. She hands me a boiling hot coffee, which I drink, running to the truck.
The Colombian guy they call ‘El Paisa’ gives me a hand to help me get into the truck. I’m terrible at anything that involves moving my body. If I have to grab a crank to lift a foot, I’ll probably end up on the ground laughing at myself. El Paisa can tell just by looking at me.
I eat the burritos on the ride and write down that the temperature is 41° Fahrenheit. Now, we’re here with rakes, brooms, blankets, empty plastic barrels, crouching down to protect ourselves from the wind, wearing boots and hoods. Trap music plays on El Paisa’s cell phone. There’s another guy with us. He’s about 16 years old, Mexican, silent and he’s sending WhatsApp messages. I’m still agitated and trying to stay upright, taking notes and framing photos properly at the same time.
***
On January 8, the day after the fires began in Los Angeles, about 20 laborers volunteered to clean up the city. They started at the corner of the Center, where they normally connect with potential employers. The community began to join in, and in a short time, they were receiving as many as 1,500 volunteers a day from all over the country.
They were divided into two sections: street cleaning and distribution of donations. According to Swany Barahona, who coordinates the latter, donations were split into tents dedicated to distributing water, baby products, vegetables and fruits, canned food, clothing, shoes and toys, respectively.
About 120 day laborers work in the cleaning brigades in 20 private trucks, whose fuel costs are covered by the Center. On the most challenging days, they have thrown away so much trash that they fill the dumpster the City set up for that purpose.
Sometimes, day laborers who are also affected by the fires have received donated gift cards, food or clothing, but nothing more.
A distribution area for donations for people affected by the fires was set up outside the offices of the Pasadena Community Job Center. Photo by Jesús Jank Curbelo for palabra
***
I have a mask and plastic glasses that the squad boss gave me, but he forgot to provide gloves, so next thing I know I’m picking up tree branches and piles of dirt with my bare hands. The Mexican guy, El Paisa and three other men who are part of this squad and arrived in another truck are cleaning up using shovels and rakes. They throw the trash into the barrels or pile it on tarps. There are piles of debris on practically every corner of every block in Pasadena. I’m embarrassed that they are seeing how bad I am with tools.
There are also three women on the squad. There are nine of us, 10 with the boss, all Latino. The boss is the most fluent in English and only uses it when necessary. For example, a little while ago, a woman in high heels came to complain about the City’s work as if it were our job. From the sidewalk, she yelled in English that she was going to file a complaint, all while picking up the mess of vegetation left on the street in front of her house by the 80+ mph winds. The boss explained that we were volunteers. She turned around and went into her home.
Since we’re on the side of the street, one of the women on the crew pulls up a STOP sign that says SLOW on the back. We take up almost an entire lane of South Allen Ave. Cars turning right have to do so from the left lane. Without us, they still had to do it that way; trash nearly blocked the corner.
“Take care of the tools. We have 11 (tools) and seven buckets, okay?” the boss says.
I finally ask him for gloves.
I try to count the barrels we empty, but it’s pointless. When they’re full, we carry them on our shoulders to the truck: we climb the metal ramp, empty the bucket, and bring it down again. Other times, someone will stay on the truck and empty the buckets for us. Once the truck bed is full, we cover it with a net.
An area at the Community Job Center where volunteers pick up tools. Photo by Jesús Jank Curbelo for palabra
***
María Zamorano, while separating whole eggs from broken ones, at the Community Job Center kitchen:
“I live in Highland Park, nearby, and am the ‘jack of all trades.’ I clean houses and offices. I started a small company and gave my colleagues work when I had something to offer. I am getting older, but I have tried to support myself, help whoever I can, and ask for help because I need it.
I am the mother of four children and six grandchildren. My parents and a daughter, who is still rather young, depend on me. My house was not affected, but the houses I cleaned were. The seven houses I cleaned, let’s say, regularly, were affected by the fire. I have sent text messages, but the bosses don’t answer me. One of them just told me, ‘Well, I don’t know if my house burned down; I’ll let you know later, Mari.’ Right now, we are like we started, without anything.
I have been here (in the United States) for about 38 years. I am from Mexico, from the state of Colima. I crossed the border like everyone else, over the hill, out of necessity.
I am among the people who arrive here at six in the morning to distribute breakfast to the teams that are cleaning the streets, and I leave with a full stomach, plus the help they give me by bringing food from here. Look, they gave us new shoes, and so what more can you ask for in life?”
María Zamorano at the Pasadena Community Job Center. Photo by Jesús Jank Curbelo for palabra
***
“Wow, there’s trash here, enough to build a shack,” El Paisa says when we get off at Allen Ave., on the corner of Revere Alley.
El Paisa is the joker of the team. He is dark-skinned, tall, about 25 years old, with the build of someone who lifted weights long ago and then gained weight. We come across a log and he claims that this solid cylinder weighs at least 140 pounds. He says that he works out and knows how much things weigh. He tries to lift it by himself, but he can’t. I don’t think the log weighs as much as he says. Anyway, four of us carry it. It’s hard to get it into the truck because four of us can’t get up the ramp at once, so we have to lift it. One, two, three, lift. I say it weighs at most a hundred pounds. No one agrees.
I type with one finger because it’s hard to type with gloves. The plastic goggles are on my head and the mask is around my neck.
Eduardo, the brigade chief, says I should wear the mask because there are gases and the air is toxic. But it is uncomfortable to take them off to spit and wipe off the sweat. Besides, we have not been that close to the critical disaster zone. Where we are, there are no burned houses or reconstruction teams or the apocalyptic landscape that I saw in Altadena, near the mountains, 10 minutes north of Pasadena, where blocks were darkened and terrifying to look at. Roofs on the ground, burned gardens. There is damage here, but relatively minimal, and more the result of wind than fire.
Eduardo hands out flyers for the Community Job Center on the blocks where we stop in case any neighbor needs to hire employees. He tells me that he does electricity, plumbing, whatever. Sometimes, people come out to the door to hand out snacks or water, although I have not seen anyone. Just a driver who rolled down his window and shouted “Thank you” from a Tesla, and another man who offered to move his car so we could clean his garage.
***
Maurilio Campoverde, as he hands out water jugs in the parking lot they had set up as an assistance points:
“We come from the day laborers of San Bernardino, 55 miles from here. Our group is called Hermanos Unidos. There are 10 of us. Today marks four days that we have been here.
I am from Michoacán (Mexico). How long have I been here (in the United States)? Ah, 39 years. I usually work in construction and don’t have work in January or February. That’s why I decided to help, and all my friends have also agreed to help here.
First, we clean the area and set up the tents, then the representative tells us where to put the pallets, and we organize the food. I was helping where the fruit is, but they sent me here. To these people who come walking, I give them water. Two waters for each family. If it’s one person alone, it’s also two. If it’s two families together, I give them four.”
Maurilio Campoverde distributing water bottles to people in the community. Photo by Jesús Jank Curbelo for palabra
***
The truck driver is cutting up a huge log with a chainsaw. It’s already 11:30 a.m., and we’ve been all over Pasadena cleaning streets. It’s the same thing every time. Stop traffic and get everything shiny in 20 minutes. Eduardo follows a map given to him at the Community Job Center every morning. It’s mostly side streets.
When the log is in pieces, we load them onto the truck. The pieces fly through the air, and sting your face and arms. I just realized that the plastic goggles are for protecting your eyes. The log was bigger than the one that weighed 140 pounds and bigger than any we’ve seen. That’s what the chainsaw is for. Only Eduardo and the truck driver are certified to use it.
“If you want to go to the restroom, let me know,” Eduardo tells me. I suppose he tells me so that he can take me in his truck to a gas station or a restaurant. But no one has gone to the restroom. He looks like a tough guy with a serious face under his yellow hard hat. But he broke down talking to me about President Donald Trump’s anti-immigrant policies.
There’s a little sun out. The temperature is 55° F.
“At noon, I go get the lunches (at the Community Job Center). Whoever wants to go to the restroom comes with me,” Eduardo says as he confirms how many of us there are so he knows how many lunches he brings.
We clean up the place and get in the truck with all the trash. You have to figure out how to fit among all that garbage. You stay wherever you find a spot.
Volunteers with the Pasadena Community Job Center finish cleaning in Pasadena. Photo by Jesús Jank Curbelo for palabra
***
Eduardo, the brigade chief, five minutes before lunch:
“Our job right now is to help people realize that Hispanics are always united to help the community. I am Guatemalan, and there are people from Colombia, Venezuela, and Mexico in the group. We put a lot of effort into this work.
I have been in this country for 35 years. Above all, I have two children. I was able to raise them; they are professionals. I am still an undocumented person, but I feel proud because I have achieved many things with the sweat of my brow and with my head held high, not by committing crimes, as Mr. Trump says, that we are criminals. I want to tell him to look at how united we are, and that even if he does what he does, he will never be able to get us out or bend our hands.
I come from another practically unaffected city, but here we are doing our part. We will continue to be here until the city needs us and until we can see the effect we had in helping the town recover because I want those affected by the fires to know that they are not alone. The Latino community is with them, and we will continue to help.”
***
We brought only two cases of water, with 40 bottles of water each, for everyone, so if you open a bottle, you must watch it. I always leave mine on the edge of the sidewalk, and I keep my eye on them.
“I haven’t eaten anything. I’m about to pass out,” says a volunteer who has just emptied a barrel while he begins to fill it again with a shovel. It’s 12:30. I don’t know how often we’ve gotten on and off the truck or in which direction we’re going. I’m sweating so much that I tie my coat around my waist. Eduardo goes out to get lunch.
“Be very careful,” he warns.
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From what I can count, we’ve collected 11 truckfuls. Since there are two trucks, we fill one while the other drops off the load at the dumpster. We haven’t stopped, but the day is made easier because El Paisa always has a joke.
Days later, I will run into El Paisa outside the Community Job Center, in a line of people affected by the fires who are seeking donations in the parking lot. We will greet each other. I won’t want to ask him, but he’ll seem sad to me.
Eduardo comes back. We each lunch on the grass — rice with chicken and chicken burritos. We rest for 30 minutes and continue picking up and throwing away trash until 3:30 p.m. As we make our way back to the Job Center, I can see from the truck that in Pasadena there are still blocks to clean.
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Jesús Jank Curbelo is a Cuban-born writer and journalist. He has collaborated with press outlets such as El País, Milenio and the Texas Observer. He has also published a novel, “Los Perros.” @jankcurbelo
Nathalie Alonso is a Cuban American journalist based in Queens, New York, where she was born and raised. Her writing has appeared in numerous publications, including National Geographic, Outside, Refinery29, AFAR, and TIME for Kids. She is also the author of several books for children, including “Hispanic Star: Sonia Sotomayor” and “Hispanic Star: Ellen Ochoa” (Roaring Book Press, 2023); “Old Clothes for Dinner?!” (Barefoot Books, 2024); and “Call Me Roberto!” (Calkins Creek, 2024). She is on the faculty for the Highlights Foundation. Since 2006, Nathalie has worked as an editorial producer, translator and reporter for LasMayores.com, the official Spanish language website of Major League Baseball. She received a B.A. in American studies from Columbia University. Learn more about her work at NathalieAlonso.com. @Nathalie_Writes