A quiet evening in Fort Wayne turned solemn on Wednesday as pastors and locals gathered in prayer, not for the events in their own city—but for the pain felt hundreds of miles away.
In a world that feels smaller by the hour, even the tremors of immigration raids in Los Angeles are reaching Indiana hearts.
A service of prayer, not protest
It wasn’t loud. No chants. No megaphones. Just candles, bowed heads, and shared silence. At Plymouth Congregational Church of Christ, faith leaders lit up the sanctuary for a spiritual vigil—standing in solidarity with immigrants shaken by the recent ICE operations in California.
Pastor Martin Garcia of Amistad Church helped lead the event. His words were soft but steady.
“With everything going on in Los Angeles,” he said, “this needed to be done.”
Garcia, who moved to Fort Wayne from Southern California, spoke with visible emotion. He’s seen firsthand what immigrant families endure—living in the shadows, fearing every knock on the door.
Worry travels fast, even when raids don’t
There’s no evidence of similar immigration raids happening in Fort Wayne. Not yet. But that doesn’t mean people aren’t scared.
“Here in Fort Wayne,” Garcia said, “there are immigrants who are fearful of what’s happening in L.A.; they’re fearful it may happen here.”
He’s not exaggerating. Across the city, rumors fly quicker than facts. Parents keep kids home from school. Workers skip shifts. Some simply vanish—afraid to be seen.
The fear is real, even if the threat isn’t yet present.
Peace over protest: the church’s message
Garcia was clear—the vigil wasn’t a protest. Not in the traditional sense. There were no signs, slogans, or demands.
Instead, it was about presence. Support. Healing.
“One of the ways we want to support what is happening over there is to have these little peaceful demonstrations,” Garcia said.
Not to stir anger. But to remind immigrants—many of whom feel invisible—that they’re not alone.
“We want them to know people care,” he said.
Hardworking, human, and often misunderstood
There’s a common refrain in debates about immigration. One Garcia hears all the time.
“There’s always one or two people that are doing bad things,” he said. “But the majority of immigrants are individuals that work hard and want a better life for them.”
It’s a message he repeats often, especially now. Because sometimes, even peaceful people get caught in the storm.
Here’s what many in the room wanted others to understand:
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Most immigrants in Fort Wayne contribute to local businesses, churches, and schools.
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Many came here fleeing violence or poverty in their home countries.
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Almost all live under a cloud of uncertainty, not knowing what tomorrow holds.
It’s not about politics for them. It’s about survival.
What’s happening in L.A. — and why it matters here
The recent ICE raids in Los Angeles—though not widely televised—have rocked immigrant communities. Multiple reports confirm that federal agents conducted targeted operations in areas known for high immigrant populations.
Churches in L.A. have opened their doors as temporary sanctuaries. Community organizations are scrambling to provide legal aid.
Even those thousands of miles away are bracing themselves.
“This is the ripple effect,” said one Fort Wayne resident who attended the vigil but didn’t want to be named. “When one city gets hit, we all feel it.”
Candles, quiet, and hope
By the end of the vigil, the room was glowing with flickers of candlelight. Dozens had come—not just Latinos, not just immigrants. Neighbors. Allies. Pastors from other denominations. Even a few who admitted they “just wanted to listen.”
One woman clutched a photo of her niece, who’d recently crossed the border and was now staying with a sponsor in Chicago.
“She’s just 9,” the woman whispered. “And every time the phone rings, I think it’s bad news.”
That kind of anxiety, shared silently among strangers, was what gave the vigil its power.
Not a headline, but a heartbeat
There was no media frenzy. No police presence. No drama. Just a group of people standing together because it felt like the right thing to do.
Fort Wayne might not be Los Angeles. But grief, fear, and faith don’t recognize city limits.