Tren de Aurora
A broader examination of the migrant crisis in Aurora, Colorado
Seemingly, out of nowhere, I started receiving texts and calls from friends and family from all over asking if I was safe from the Venezuelan gang violence in Aurora. Initially, I hadn’t the slightest clue as to what they were talking about. Especially because I live 23 miles away from Aurora. And then, I was sent a link to a video posted on X.
I opened the link and began watching a video clip of several members of Tren de Aragua, a dangerous street gang whose origin stems from the Venezuelan prison system, in the hallway of an apartment. The Tren de Aragua members were armed with semi-automatic rifles and pistols and appeared to be breaking into an apartment.
The footage is unsettling and was, unfortunately, indicative of a larger problem. Apparently, these gang members had taken control of several buildings in this apartment complex in Aurora and were allegedly extorting the residents for money and goods.
Before Aurora police made a single arrest, this video was picked up by major media outlets and redistributed to millions of various screens across the nation.
The facts surrounding this situation quickly dissipated as the video was reposted, shared, and commented upon innumerable times. Before long, the narrative had evolved from a singular apartment complex being controlled by one faction of a gang to the entire city of Aurora being overrun by bloodthirsty Venezuelan migrants.
Thus, the nationwide fear of the city of Aurora, Colorado, a place once relatively unfamiliar to people outside of the Denver Metro area, was now a central focus of nationwide panic.
Let’s be real: a healthy dose of fear and concern regarding Tren de Aragua is certainly warranted. The gang is ruthless, violent, and inherently dangerous. Once again, the group was formed in a Venezuelan prison, which is a place akin to actual hell on earth. That is one thing the media has reported correctly.
But the idea that Aurora was once a safe and happy white picket fence slice of the American dream before Tren de Aragua made its way into the area is as far-fetched as the idea of Haitians eating your pets. Prior to the video of the gang-related home invasion being leaked to the world, Aurora was most formerly well-known for a mass shooting in a movie theater in 2012.
I was born and raised in Colorado, and Aurora has always been a rough place. If Denver is the proverbial heart of the state, anatomically speaking, that would make Aurora the armpit (and that’s putting it quite nicely). That doesn’t mean there aren’t lovely people and families who live there, but the city has had serious problems with crime and violence long before the right-wing media could find it on a map. That being said, the city is not a post-apocalyptic wasteland like one might see on TikTok or Fox News.
The influx of immigrants in Aurora is entirely factual. Millions of Venezuelans fled their country because it is truly as bad as the American TikTok users and Fox News reporters would like you to believe Aurora is. Venezuela is ravaged by violence from groups like Tres de Agua and its own hyper-populist government. In addition to the very real threat of death or injury, roughly one-third of the nation is too impoverished to afford food because of hyperinflation.
This recent villainization of the Venezuelans in Aurora, Colorado, comes from a place of comfortability in one’s own bias, far from a place of familiarity. This type of rhetoric is intended to make all Venezuelans coming across the US border appear as though they are heavily armed gang members and will soon be breaking down a door in your neighborhood.
The idea that they have somehow taken over the town is rhetoric completely based on ignorance and perpetuated by millions of people who have never visited the city.
If they had spent some time in Aurora or anywhere near the Denver metro area, they would know that most migrants are not committing violent crimes in apartment hallways. Instead, they are posted up on street corners armed with squeegees and Windex, offering to wash the windshields of passers-by for a dollar a pop.
When I approached the first Venezuelan windshield washer with a prepared introduction, “Hi, My name is Javan. I’m a freelance journalist. I have seen you guys working out here for a couple of months, and I would love to do a story about you and take some photographs.” I forgot one important detail: This man probably didn’t speak English and I don’t speak any Spanish. Between my two years of high school Spanish and a few years working in a heavy truck repair shop in Thornton, my knowledge of the dialect was more or less limited to asking where the library was and an abundance of derogatory cuss words, none of which would have been helpful in this scenario.
After I attempted to introduce myself, the young man named Ricardo responded, “No habla.” He pointed at his phone, pulled up Google Translate, and indicated that this would be our form of communication.
I translated my formal introduction to poorly interpreted search engine Spanish and was greeted with darting eyes, confusion, and apprehension. I held the camera hanging from my neck in front of my face. I mimicked taking pictures while repeating the phrase “periodista, noticias,” which means “journalist, news” in Spanish, until I heard a response I understood. “Pizza!”
The one shouting “Pizza” at me was a teenage migrant named Daniel. He continued to say “Pizza” and pointed at the 7-11 across the street until I got the picture. They would let me report on them for an exchange of food.
I know that the standards of journalism prohibit making a purchase in exchange for a story, but last I checked, no major news publication was paying me for this story, and these were homeless teens, so bite me. I happily bought them pizza.
I returned with the goods, and after the pizza was quickly devoured, we all got to work.
I ran into the street with the windshield washers at every red light and took photographs of them as they weaved in between cars looking for customers willing to part with a dollar for a clean windshield.
They were out there from dusk till dawn, and they did not miss a single light cycle. Ricardo told me they can individually wash 100-200 windshields daily, receiving a dollar (sometimes more from a generous patron) for each service.
When they find a willing customer, the speed and efficiency with which they earn that singular US dollar is quite impressive
After running through numerous light cycles with them, trying to get pictures, I was sweating through my clothes. It was diabolically hot outside and I can’t begin to tell you how many times I thought one of them would be hit by a car. It’s exhausting and dangerous work.
Despite the conditions under which they work for unstable and unpredictable pay, they unanimously agreed that washing windshields in America is better than any of the limited opportunities they had to make a living in Venezuela.
Regardless of the heat and the pervasive odor of exhaust pipes and hot asphalt, I can honestly say I had a lovely time with these young folks. They were kind, funny, respectful, and not associated with Tren de Aragua in any way. The only criminal activity they were involved in was the petty theft of those squeegees usually placed next to gas pumps and collecting a tax-free income.
It’s not my intention to diminish the ongoing border crisis or to act as if no violent perpetrators are coming into the United States in rather alarming numbers every day. That would be as dishonest as telling millions of people that the city of Aurora has been completely overrun by Tren de Arauga. I just simply refuse to entertain the notion that all immigrants are dangerous criminals or helpless charity cases. Both are insulting and equally reductive. Mine may not be as thrilling of a narrative, but at least I know it’s grounded in a learned experience.