Owner, Leo’s Tow, St. Paul
Last winter, Juan Leon bought a tow truck to supplement his income from delivering building materials. His intention was modest: to “help pay for my daughter’s quinceañera, get stuff together for the house, have a little extra money.”
The timing was fortuitous. Days after Juan returned from Tennessee to Minnesota with the tow truck, he says, federal immigration agents converged on the Twin Cities for Operation Metro Surge. They arrested and detained residents by the thousands, regardless of legal status or criminal record.
Many of the detainees were pulled from their cars. “ICE, when they were picking them up, they would leave their vehicles running sometimes, windows wide open, windows busted out, smashed into the side of the barriers,” Juan says. “Sometimes they would T-bone them; they would pinch them in. Sometimes vehicles were left on and locked up.”
And now Juan had a tow truck.
Owner, Leo’s Towing, St. Paul
Juan grew up in St. Paul, but he had an up-close view of the immigrant experience. His single mother used to take new Americans into their St. Paul home, feed and clothe them, and help them find work. “I grew up knowing these people, loving these people, seeing them with their families, seeing them just like us,” he says. “Seeing them struggle. Seeing them want to build a better life.”
He asked his girlfriend how she would feel about his using the tow truck to help immigrants detained during Operation Metro Surge. “Yes, let’s get on it,” she told him without hesitation.
He offered the service for free, funding it through voluntary donations. The first call came on a cold night. The windows were broken. The detainee’s lunch was still in the back seat.
Juan posted a video of that tow to social media. “After that, it was just a snowball,” he says. He estimates that he towed between 250 and 300 vehicles, in one case dropping off a car three hours from St. Paul. A GoFundMe campaign raised $155,000 to offset the costs.
In some cases the tow was just the beginning of the assistance. At one house, a woman who was nine months pregnant answered the door. “She was so scared to go to her OB/GYN or any of her doctor’s appointments that my girlfriend literally asked, ‘I will take you to the doctors. I will take you to all your appointments.’” They reached out to midwives, too.
When news of his efforts got out, Juan was doxxed. Some days, he received more than 100 menacing phone calls. As a threat, anti-immigrant activists sent him photos of his own house.
As a result, he sleeps about three hours a night. “Any noise, I’m up,” he says. “Any movement on my cameras, I’m up.” He worries for his kids. “I just try to keep them as safe as I can without smothering them.”
But he also knows that he made the right decision to offer his services to detainees and their families. “They’re going through the worst times of their life,” he says. “You feel good after you’re done helping them. You’re talking about it with your team, and at the end of the night, you guys are crying together.”
“I grew up knowing these people, loving these people, seeing them with their families, seeing them just like us.”
Why he decided to get involved:
“I’ve never been one to stand around and watch a bully bully people. And that’s what I felt was going on. I had to do something that was going to be meaningful, that’s going to actually help.
“These people are already going through enough. They don’t need to worry about their vehicles and worry about paying to get it towed. They’ve already lost the breadwinner of their home. They’ve already lost their freedom to go outside. Why are we doing this to innocent people? Their only crime is putting money into our Social Security, working.
“I just couldn’t stand by and yell at the TV and be mad. I had to focus in a different way. And I have the means; I have a tow truck. That was the number-one key thing that made this whole situation. I just bought a tow truck and I didn’t have any jobs lined up or anything. Why not get out there and do what I need to do and help as many people as I can?
Why he keeps speaking out:
“The people, they’re scared to talk. They’re scared to come out. They’re scared to share their stories. If it weren’t for us that are able to speak—to tell the real stories and to show the humanity of these people—we’d treat them just like how we’ve been treating them: like criminals, when they’re not.”
From John:
Sometimes a portrait is about the location and environment. Sometimes it is about the eyes. Or the light. Or the small details that reveal themselves as you study the image.
In Juan’s case we didn’t have much time. He had squeezed us in between appointments and looking after his kids. I had originally imagined photographing him with his tow truck, out on the street, but when it became clear we wouldn’t have the time for that, I wasn’t sure what to do.
But as we interviewed Juan, it started making sense. His kind eyes. The baseball emblem on the underside of the bill on his cap. A close portrait that captured the collar of his t-shirt. The edge of a tattoo. The determined and direct look of someone who had been working hard to help others, even at a cost to himself.
Sometimes we go in with a certain plan, but if we pay attention, the photos find us.
To read the introduction to this series, follow this link.
North Star Way: Minnesota navigates a harsh winter
To listen to our podcast series, follow this link or find us on the platform of your choice.
A Peace of My Mind on Buzzsprout
Credits:
Interviews and text: Barry Yeoman
Photos: John Noltner
Editing and production: Razik Saifullah
Music: Dan Rodriguez
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