Column: As Trump was sworn in, day laborer organizer Pablo Alvarado did what he always does
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The one person I wanted to be with during Donald Trump’s inauguration was getting ready to play some cumbias when I met him outside the Pasadena Community Job Center.
Pablo Alvarado is the co-executive director of the National Day Laborer Organizing Network, better known as NDLON. The 58-year-old El Salvador native is a legend in the local immigrant rights movement, the kind of guy who organized soccer leagues in L.A. factories back in the 1990s so Latin American workers from different countries could drop jingoistic rivalries to unite under their common struggles.
A former day laborer himself, he has helped put NDLON at the tip of the spear in nearly every battle on behalf of people without papers in California and beyond, from sanctuary city and state laws to kicking out immigration agents from local jails. If anyone has advice on how to stand up to Trump and his promised crackdown on illegal immigration, it’s Alvarado — even now, after the devastation of the Eaton fire.
The Salvadoran immigrant’s efforts have helped preserve the workers’ rights and brought national attention to their cause.
He had to evacuate his Pasadena home with his family when the smoke and ash became unbearable. The following day, he organized jornaleros — day laborers — as volunteers to clear lawns, streets and driveways of fire debris. Videos of their vigorous, cheerful efforts soon went viral, drew international coverage and were a forceful counterpoint to Trump’s xenophobic insults.
A promised sit-down interview kept being pushed back and pushed back until friends said the best way to talk to Alvarado was to see him in action. So I joined him, along with workers, volunteers and others, on Inauguration Day.
First, he wanted everyone to dance to NDLON’s house band, Los Jornaleros del Norte. They’ve been a constant at immigrant rights rallies in Southern California for 30 years now, a reminder to enjoy the good in life and not drown in the bad.
Dressed in jeans, work boots, a flannel, a black hat and a T-shirt that said “Solo el Pueblo Salva al Pueblo” (Only the People Can Save the People), Alvarado laid down some steady bass lines. Singers belted out wry tunes of resistance and exploitation. An accordionist spurred the crowd of about 150 to dance, clap or yelp bird caws in approval.
“Of course he plays the bass,” cracked Hector Flores. A member of the Eastside band Las Cafeteras, Flores was there to volunteer — first, by helping a friend who came down from Fresno with luxury portable toilets.
“The bass sets the foundation — it’s the anchor to let everyone else shine,” Flores explained. “That’s Pablo, and I want to be with people like that.”
Los Jornaleros del Norte finished their short, lively set, and then the bassist spoke.
At exactly 9 in the morning, as Trump was taking the oath of office for a second time and would soon promise to deploy troops to the border to “repel the disastrous invasion of our country,” Alvarado asked workers to stand behind him — literally and figuratively.
“Come without fear, with your tools,” he requested in Spanish. His voice was quiet and steady. About 30 people stepped forward. “Let’s raise those calloused hands!”
He switched to English. “Let’s lift them with some pride, because these are the hands that will rebuild L.A.”
There would be hard days ahead, Alvarado warned, with the double whammy of a new president hostile to poor immigrants from Latin America, along with the immense task of rebuilding from the Eaton and Palisades fires.
“Today, this is your inauguration,” Alvarado said to cheers, finally breaking into a smile. “And the day laborers are the president of this country. ¡Que viva el pueblo inmigrante!”
Afterward, people broke off into cleanup brigades or began to organize supply chains. Well-wishers swarmed to greet Alvarado, including Pasadena resident Florence Annang,
“Pablo is like the Tasmanian Devil, but doing good trouble everywhere,” said Annang, who is a member of Pasadena’s police oversight committee. In 2020, NDLON marched with Annang and others to commemorate the murder of George Floyd.
“He’ll inspire people to join in the righteousness of the journey of justice,” she added. “He lets them know it’s long, but also we need to get on it.”
The Pasadena Community Job Center is a gathering spot for day laborers. As fires burned across the region, workers and staff launched a fire relief brigade.
Alvarado eventually peeled away from the crowd and rushed into the job center to check on NDLON’s plans for the day. Work tools, poster boards, boxes of pizzas and cold coffee crammed the space.
A staffer put Ray-Ban sunglasses on Alvarado. They were embedded with a hidden video camera. “This way,” Alvarado said with a broad grin, “we can catch bosses who don’t pay.”
We went back outside to briefly chat. Volunteers zipped past us with pallet jacks. The ruins were a few miles up Lake Avenue, but we could smell them. “I’ve lost sense of time,” he admitted. “But what I’m going through is nothing with what everyone else must deal with.”
He personally knows at least 50 families who lost their dwellings to the Eaton fire, as well as “hundreds” of workers across Southern California who are now jobless because the homes they serviced in Pacific Palisades, Malibu and Altadena are no more.
The timing, with Trump’s ascendancy to power, couldn’t have happened at a worse moment for NDLON — and yet Alvarado said it will be a perfect opportunity to show opponents how to stand up to the new president.
“Whatever resistance is going to happen,” he said, nodding toward the scene before us, “it should look like this.”
I asked what the rest of us could learn from his decades in the proverbial trenches.
“Don’t fall into despair. When there’s a crisis like this or what’s ahead, take it one day at a time,” he said. “How you plan in times of uncertainty is always very difficult. But the one thing I’ve learned is if you follow the greater good — follow your heart — nothing can go wrong.”
It was a facile answer, I suggested, especially when Trump wants to make life miserable for the very people Alvarado has spent the majority of his life advocating for.
“What I’m telling you has never failed,” he replied calmly. “Look all around us.”
More volunteers were waiting for orders. More trucks came with more supplies. More and more goodness.
“It’s very beautiful,” Alvarado continued. “People who’ve never known each other are now in the same boat. The other day, our guys worked alongside five guys in MAGA hats at Central Park [in Pasadena]. To do the work that an organizer does, you have to believe in the capacity of people to change. People will change.”
I mentioned that Trump is expected to visit the Altadena area as early as Friday. What would he ask the new president?
“It has to be a conversation, not a question,” Alvarado replied. “If he was here, I’d ask him to use a shovel for the first time in his life and start cleaning.”
He laughed, then got serious. “I’d tell him if he wants to better this country, he needs to not just help the most humble among us but give them rights. That’s how you better the world.”
As firefighters continue to battle multiple major wildfires, The Times has compiled a list of resources to help.
Long Beach native Annie Corcoran came by to greet Alvarado. The teacher at Saint Jeanne de Lestonnac School in Tustin had never heard of NDLON until a member of her hiking group suggested volunteering. Corcoran was helping that morning and wants to hold a fundraiser at her school for the group.
“He’s got integrity,” she said. “It’s something we see lacking too much these days. And we’re going to need people like Pablo for months, years.”
While she and I talked, Alvarado took off. I found him across the street in a parking lot transformed into a drive-through donation pickup for fire survivors. A line of cars — BMWs, Nissans, shiny SUVs, beat-up sedans — wrapped around to Lake, even though the giveaway wouldn’t start for another 15 minutes.
“It looks like anarchy, but there’s order,” he said. “When you have situations like this, people figure it out.”
As we walked back to NDLON’s headquarters, Alvarado noticed a group of sharply dressed men handing out business cards and fliers to survivors who were idling in their cars. One wore a Gucci belt. For the first time all morning, Alvarado frowned.
“If you’re looking for cases, that’s something we’re going to have an issue with,” he told them. They denied that they were trying to solicit lawsuits. He was unconvinced — “This isn’t the moment for that. I don’t like it.”
He waved at the parking lot. “This is a beautiful operation. This isn’t a business.”
One of the men asked if he was kicking them out. Alvarado shook his head. “It’s your right to be here,” he said. “But I don’t think you should take advantage of people at a moment like this. It’s up to you.”
A few minutes later, the men packed up and left.
Pasadena Councilmember Tyron Hampton stopped Alvarado to hug him. They’ve known each other for over a decade. They spoke in front of a newly painted mural of jornaleros with the same legend as Alvarado’s T-shirt: “Solo el Pueblo Salva al Pueblo.” Workers were signing the mural as taco trucks set up to hand out free lunches.
“When I think about Pasadena helping,” Hampton said, “I think of Pablo.”
While Hampton spoke, Alvarado had already moved on to whatever was next.
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