Mauricio López, 31, waves to District Mayor of Cuauhtémoc as he hands out free coffee to people in “Little L.A.” located in the Colonia Tabacalera neighborhood, in Mexico City on Saturday, Feb. 8, 2025. Mauricio was “taken, I was a kid,” to the United States when he was 5-years-old. He self-deported, with $500 to his name, back to Mexico with his mother in 2017 after his brother was deported during the first Trump administration. Upon returning to Mexico, he said “we’re [the deportee community] looked down upon.” “My Spanish wasn’t good. They’d say ‘Where are you from?’ ‘Here in Mexico.’ ‘You’re Spanish doesn’t sound like it.’ Not from here. Not from there,” Mauricio said. (Tess Crowley/Deseret News)

“Little L.A.,” located in the Colonia Tabacalera neighborhood, a gathering spot for young Mexicans who grew up in the United States, is viewed from the top of the Monument to the Revolution in Mexico City on Thursday, Feb. 6, 2025.

President Donald Trump appears on the television behind Barber Edwin Malagon, 40, as he cuts Dominic Ramirez Dines’, 13, hair while working for a call center at his barbershop in Mexico City on Thursday, Feb. 6, 2025. Malagon learned how to cut hair during his 14 years living in Atlanta, Georgia. Edwin was 15 when his family paid for a coyote to cross the border to the United States. Between paying for the coyote and supporting his family it became too much and he had to drop out of high school in the United States. He tried to take the GED twice but was told he was not able take the test. He could not qualify for DACA because he had no record of school attendance, and was deported by the Obama administration at 29-years-old.

Founder and director of Comunidad en Retorno Dolores Unzueta Reyes poses at Parque Ecológico de Xochimilco in Mexico City on Friday, Feb. 7, 2025. Comunidad en Retorno is a nonprofit group made up of migrants who have returned or been deported that support other migrants reintegrate to Mexico after returning or being deported from the United States.

Members of Dambo, a drum dancer group, perform in “Little L.A.” located in the Colonia Tabacalera neighborhood, a gathering spot for young Mexicans who grew up in the United States, at the Monument to the Revolution in Mexico City on Thursday, Feb. 6, 2025.

Mauricio López, 31, back left, has a meeting with employees Clara Benavides, 22, front right, and Eduardo Aldana, 20, back right, a couple who migrated from Guatemala, as Clara holds their son Eduardo Archila, 2, after they finished work at Mauricio’s mobile coffee stand in “Little L.A.,” in Mexico City on Friday, Feb. 7, 2025. Eduardo and Clara Benavides, 22, a couple from Guatemala migrated to Mexico five months ago due to gang violence. “I get it, because I was a migrant too,” Mauricio said about the Guatemalan couple. Eduardo and Clara want to go to the United States but all CBP One appointments have been canceled. “People in the United States think that immigrants are criminals. We are not. We are hard workers,” Eduardo said in Spanish.

Guatemalan migrants Clara Benavides, 22, left, and Eduardo Aldana, 20, right, and their son Eduardo Archila, 2, and daughter Fernanda Archila, 4, pedal the mobile coffee stands owned by their boss Mauricio López, a returnee who lived in the United States for 11 years, in Mexico City on Saturday, Feb. 8, 2025. Mauricio employs Eduardo and Clara Benavides, 22, a couple from Guatemala that migrated to Mexico five months ago due to gang violence. “I get it, because I was a migrant too,” Mauricio said about the Guatemalan couple. Eduardo and Clara want to go to the United States but all CBP One appointments have been canceled. “People in the United States think that immigrants are criminals. We are not. We are hard workers,” Eduardo said in Spanish.

Mauricio López, 31, packs up his mobile coffee stand in his apartment complex after a day of work in “Little L.A.” located in the Colonia Tabacalera neighborhood, a gathering spot for young Mexicans who grew up in the United States, in Mexico City on Friday, Feb. 7, 2025. In Mexico, Mauricio teaches English classes, owns two mobile coffee stands, and runs a TikTok account. “This is the life of someone who has struggled, but is making a life for himself. I want to show dreamers and deportees that they can do it too if they give Mexico a chance.” He wants to run for Congress someday. For his 31st birthday, he gave away 31 coffees.

Mauricio López, 31, parks his mobile coffee stand in his apartment complex after a day of work in “Little L.A.” located in the Colonia Tabacalera neighborhood, in Mexico City on Friday, Feb. 7, 2025. Mauricio was “taken, I was a kid,” to the United States when he was 5-years-old. He self-deported, with $500 to his name, back to Mexico with his mother in 2017 after his brother was deported during the first Trump administration; his mother didn’t want their family separated. Upon returning to Mexico, he said “we’re [the deportee community] looked down upon.” “My Spanish wasn’t good. They’d say ‘Where are you from?’ ‘Here in Mexico.’ ‘You’re Spanish doesn’t sound like it.’ Not from here. Not from there,” Mauricio said.

Carmen Rodríguez Rubio, 57, poses while tearful at her stand where she sells coffee and other food in Mexico City on Friday, Feb. 7, 2025. Carmen’s daughter is still in the United States and was in the hospital recently. “I ask God to arrange my papers so I can get a visa. I wanted to be there, to hold her hand, to tell her everything will be okay. It’s been ten years of having my family separated. Lots of people are in my situation. Who wants to divide their family? No one. That was the price I paid for going to the U.S. I came back without a mother or father. They both died while I was gone. I just want a document so I can see my daughter. I don’t want to lose her like I lost my mother. I want to scream. I want to cry,” Carmen said in Spanish.

Mauricio López, 31, left, walks by a call center seeking English speakers with his girlfriend Dana Paola Zamora Mendez, 22, right, in “Little L.A.” located in the Colonia Tabacalera neighborhood, a gathering spot for young Mexicans who grew up in the United States, in Mexico City on Friday, Feb. 7, 2025. Mauricio was “taken, I was a kid,” to the United States when he was 5-years-old. He self-deported, with $500 to his name, back to Mexico with his mother in 2017 after his brother was deported during the first Trump administration. In Mexico, Mauricio teaches English classes, owns two mobile coffee stands, and runs a TikTok account. “I want to show dreamers and deportees that they can do it too if they give Mexico a chance.”

Mauricio López, 31, teaches an online English class in his apartment in “Little L.A.” located in the Colonia Tabacalera neighborhood, a gathering spot for young Mexicans who grew up in the United States, in Mexico City on Friday, Feb. 7, 2025. Mauricio was “taken, I was a kid,” to the United States when he was 5-years-old. He self-deported, with $500 to his name, back to Mexico with his mother in 2017 after his brother was deported during the first Trump administration. Upon returning to Mexico, he said “we’re [the deportee community] looked down upon.” “My Spanish wasn’t good. They’d say ‘Where are you from?’ ‘Here in Mexico.’ ‘You’re Spanish doesn’t sound like it.’ Not from here. Not from there,” Mauricio said.

Eduardo Amezquita prepares to perform a Mayan dance ritual at the Monument to the Revolution in Mexico City on Thursday, Feb. 6, 2025. Radical creativity coordinator at Otros Dreams en Acción, an organization that supports deportees and returnees, Varuk Racine, 37, said that Mexican indigenous communities are commonly left out of the deportee conversation. It is especially difficult for them to provide their Mexican citizenship after arriving back to the country due to Mexico’s antiquated registration system. “Mexico is also home to lots of indigenous communities where sometimes the records there are still in paper, and then you have to go and dig everything up, and it's not in a computer and not systemized,” Racine said.

Guillermo Perez, 35, who was deported from Austin, Texas, back to Mexico in 2013 at 23-years-old, poses outside Edwin Malagon’s, a fellow deportee, barbershop in the Sta Úrsula neighborhood in Mexico City on Thursday, Feb. 6, 2025. While in the United States, Guillermo tattooed his entire body. “People [in Mexico] look at you different when you have tattoos. They will misjudge you.” Guillermo arrived in the United States when he was less than 2-years-old. His parents still live in the United States. He started working at a call center looking for English-speakers when he arrived back to Mexico, but now works as a sales agent in the timeshare industry. He plans to move to Cancun soon with his girlfriend and two children.

Barber Edwin Malagon, 40, center, laughs with customers Luis Manuel Ramirez Miranda, 33, left, and Dominic Ramirez Dines, 13, right, as he works for a call center while cutting hair at his barbershop in the Sta Úrsula neighborhood in Mexico City on Thursday, Feb. 6, 2025. Malagon learned how to cut hair during his 14 years living in Atlanta, Georgia, and brings fade hairstyles he learned in the United States to his barbershop in Mexico. Malagon used to live in “Little L.A.,” a gathering spot for young Mexicans who grew up in the United States, but moved out of the neighborhood during the pandemic. “It was like ‘oh snap, you’re in the U.S.,’” he said in reference to his time in “Little L.A.” He started this barbershop three weeks ago.

Barber Edwin Malagon, 40, cuts Dominic Ramirez Dines’, 13, hair while working for a call center at his barbershop in Mexico City on Thursday, Feb. 6, 2025. Malagon learned how to cut hair during his 14 years living in Atlanta, Georgia. Edwin was 15 when his family paid for a coyote to cross the border to the United States. Between paying for the coyote and supporting his family it became too much and he had to drop out of high school in the United States. He tried to take the GED twice but was told he was not able take the test. He could not qualify for DACA because he had no record of school attendance, and was deported by the Obama administration at 29-years-old.

Guatemalan migrant Eduardo Aldana, 20, and daughter Fernanda Archila, 4, walk to the mobile coffee stand owned by his boss Mauricio López, a returnee who lived in the United States for 11 years, in Mexico City on Saturday, Feb. 8, 2025. Mauricio employs Eduardo and Clara Benavides, 22, a couple from Guatemala that migrated to Mexico five months ago due to gang violence. “I get it, because I was a migrant too,” Mauricio said about the Guatemalan couple. Eduardo and Clara want to go to the United States but all CBP One appointments have been canceled. “People in the United States think that immigrants are criminals. We are not. We are hard workers,” Eduardo said in Spanish.