One acquitted, one sues, one held six months after Camarillo raids

On the morning of July 10, 2025, hundreds of heavily armed immigration agents in camouflage descended on greenhouse complexes operated by Glass House Farms in Camarillo and Carpinteria, California, an hour north of Los Angeles. Agents carried face masks, guns, chemical munitions and armored tactical vehicles, blocking access along a road lined by produce fields.

The Department of Homeland Security said it detained 361 adults and 14 minors during the raids on facilities belonging to the state’s largest legal cannabis brand. One man died — Jaime Alanis, a 56-year-old farmworker, who fell 30 feet from a greenhouse roof.

Alanis’ wife and daughter have sued the government and Glass House Farms over his death, alleging federal agents used excessive force that caused his fall and subsequently failed to provide medical care. The lawsuit also accuses Glass House Farms of failing to properly secure roof access. DHS has denied responsibility, stating agents were not pursuing Alanis. Glass House Farms did not respond to a query.

Internal navy correspondence obtained through a records request showed immigration agents used a Ventura County naval base as a “staging area” and temporarily held around 275 workers there.

Over the following days, more than 200 workers were deported, many within days, according to Beatriz Basurto, program manager for the nonprofit 805UndocuFund. Basurto said the vast majority of the Glass House families remain torn apart. She described a family that has since fallen into homelessness, a nursing baby separated from his mother, deportees struggling to adapt to their rural pueblos, and parents who were re-detained trying to cross back into the US.

Genevieve Flores-Haro, associate director of the Mixteco/Indígena Community Organizing Project, called the raids a “litmus test for what the federal government could get away with.” “They pushed the line further and further,” she said.

Lauren Bis, a DHS spokesperson, said immigration officers were “assaulted by rioters” while “dodging bullets to save children” during the Camarillo protests, referring to a suspected gunman she accused of firing at agents. Bis said the investigation into immigration and child labor violations is ongoing. DHS did not comment on the men’s experiences.

As word of the raid spread, a crowd of protesters gathered outside. Among them was John Caravello, a philosophy lecturer at California State University, Channel Islands. Around 12:50 p.m., he grabbed a smoking tear gas canister that a border patrol agent had tossed at protesters and threw it over agents’ heads.

Several hours later, Caravello said, officers tackled him to the ground. Caravello, a U.S. citizen, was taken to the Los Angeles Metropolitan detention center, a federal prison, and released a day later on bond with pending federal assault charges. In September, a grand jury indicted him for felony assault. He faced up to 20 years in prison.

“That was visceral,” Caravello, 38, recalled. “Whiplash.”

At his April trial, prosecutors claimed he aimed the canister at agents. His defense argued video showed he threw it over their heads. In body-camera footage played for the jury, an agent said, “We’ll fucking gas the shit out of them like we did earlier.” The jury deliberated for two hours before finding Caravello not guilty.

Since his acquittal, Caravello has renewed his commitment to community organizing. He said nightmares about his brief incarceration disrupted his sleep. A friend’s words became a personal mantra: “John, we can’t operate from fear. You have to operate from a place of power.”

“A win in court, sure, may set me free in a legal sense,” Caravello said. “But, look, we see immigration operations escalating still and people still dying at the hands of ICE.”

George Retes, a 26-year-old army veteran who served in Iraq, was a security guard at the greenhouses. He drove through the chaos to report for his 3 p.m. shift until he reached a line of agents, who he said shouted conflicting orders.

“It felt like no one was in charge,” Retes said. “Like a bunch of Privates … (with) no training, no coordination, no deescalation.”

Aerial footage showed his car engulfed in tear gas smoke as he reversed. Within minutes, officers shattered his window, pepper-sprayed him and pinned him to the ground. Retes, a U.S. citizen, was taken to the Los Angeles Metropolitan detention center and held for three days before being let go without explanation.

In February, Retes filed a civil lawsuit through the Institute for Justice, employing a legal theory his lawyers hope will open a new pathway against federal officers. The argument relies on a California law that allows people to sue anyone who interferes with their constitutional rights but has not been wielded successfully against federal officers.

“(I’m) realizing how unprotected we actually are as citizens, how crazy it is to get justice,” Retes said. “Especially when it comes to government agencies like ICE.”

Joanna Schwartz, a UCLA law professor, said the Supreme Court has spent decades narrowing its 1971 ruling that found an implied constitutional right to sue individual federal agents. People can sue local and state police under an 1871 civil rights law — but it doesn’t cover federal officers.

“It truly seems like ICE officers are behaving with absolute impunity,” Schwartz said.

Santiago, an undocumented farmworker from Mexico who had been working at the greenhouse for just three weeks when agents arrived, is identified by a pseudonym because he fears repercussions for his immigration case. The 40-year-old father of three U.S.-citizen girls described feeling raw fear that day.

“Fear of what could happen to me, and fear of leaving my daughters behind,” Santiago recalled.

He was detained and shipped to the Adelanto detention center in California, where he remained for nearly six months. When his daughters visited after three months, his one-year-old had lost her baby fat. His five-year-old asked when he would come home, thinking the detention facility was a worksite. His wife drained their savings on legal fees. At a court hearing in December, a judge set a $10,000 bond. Santiago’s former soccer coach lent the money without hesitation.

Santiago walked free in January. An ankle monitor, biweekly check-ins and distant court dates marked his conditional freedom.

“As someone who was always working, now I feel trapped,” Santiago said. “I am throwing away my girls’ future.”

Weeks later, after receiving work authorization, he began applying for jobs. “Gracias a Dios, ya un peso menos,” Santiago said — one less burden to carry.

On July 10, 2026, relatives of Alanis attended evening mass. Yesenia Duran, Alanis’ niece, said hearing the priest speak her uncle’s name felt unreal.

“His name is so honorable now,” Duran said. “I hope we get justice.”

Around 100 people gathered near an altar for Alanis at the entrance to Glass House in Camarillo, decorated with flowers and a photograph. In a speech, Caravello thanked his support network: “The people – y’all, my community – saved me.”

Retes, who had marked the anniversary by celebrating his daughter’s fourth birthday, attended the vigil as well. Dozens of photographs of people who have died in ICE custody or operations fluttered in the breeze, including Lorenzo Salgado Araujo, a Houston father fatally shot by ICE on July 7 while driving his work van.

“That could have just as easily been me,” Retes said.

Santiago spent the anniversary at home with his daughters.

“Now when I see a car with dark windows, I worry,” Santiago said. “Everything has changed.”