It took hours for Jocelyn’s son to sleep on Tuesday night. The one-year-old had a fever, and he writhed as they lay together on a mattress on the floor of her Aurora apartment.
But just as the little one finally fell asleep, Jocelyn heard a dreaded knocking sound echoing through the halls. Federal agents were sweeping through the building, and the time for sleep was over.
All newly arrived immigrants we spoke to for this story asked to have their last names withheld, fearing deportation or consequences in their pending asylum cases. Most gave us middle names, or nicknames, for identification in this story.
Jocelyn and her family live at The Edge at Lowry, the apartment complex at the center of a Venezuelan gang scare this summer that rocketed the metro area into international headlines.
It has been rumored since last week that the building would be targeted in President Donald Trump’s effort to deport people with criminal records, which he has nicknamed “Operation Aurora.”
On Wednesday morning, immigration agents finally descended on the Edge and other apartment complexes across Denver. Federal authorities said the action was targeted at members of the gang Tren de Aragua. At the Edge, agents seemed to knock on every door they could find.
Denverite documented the raid from inside the Edge, where we spent the night.
While many details remain unknown, we witnessed the following:
- Dozens of agents from multiple agencies swept the building. Several other buildings around the metro area were also targeted.
- Agents at the Edge knocked on doors and yelled for people to “open up.” They carried rifles and a battering ram. Video from another apartment complex showed ICE agents asking if residents had drugs or weapons.
- Agents appeared to leave the Edge emptyhanded, with residents refusing to open doors. After knocking on doors throughout the complex, federal authorities sped away in their vehicles.
At 6 a.m., residents’ fears were realized.
Jocelyn crawled into bed with her son and daughter around midnight on Tuesday night. They watched Spanish-dubbed Disney cartoons as they tried to fall asleep. The boy was chipper before bed, but he squirmed as they settled in. It was going to be a long night.
Sounds emerged from downstairs as the sky began to brighten. The rhythmic knocking sounded almost like an engine outside. But it would pause, then grow louder and closer — seeming to come from the first floor, then the second floor, then next door.
Jocelyn froze when the knocking came to her door. She and the kids were tucked away in their bedroom, the girl still asleep and the boy cooing in her arms. She tried to quiet him.
Jocelyn's daughter watches a dubbed Disney movie in their Aurora apartment, in the early hours of Feb. 5, 2025. Kevin J. Beaty/Denverite
A look through the peephole in Carolina's apartment in Aurora's Edge at Lowry complex, a perspecive she's seen a lot of lately as she watches for federal agents in her hallway. Jan. 30, 2025. Kevin J. Beaty/Denverite
“Open up!” a voice shouted from the other side.
She didn’t move. As a Venezuelan immigrant who hopes to apply for asylum, she feared she could be deported.
Then the noise faded. About 20 minutes later, she watched through her fogged windows as a group of people dressed in bulletproof vests jumped into their cars and sped away.
It was early, but activists had already arrived to document what was happening. A few had slept in their cars outside; others heard about the episode on social media and rushed to get there.
Jocelyn was OK, she said, still trembling.
Downstairs, another resident, Maria, was reeling.
“They've never come like this. I'm afraid for my daughters,” Maria said in Spanish. “I’m not going out all day.”
She is an immigrant from Venezuela who has not yet applied for asylum. She said the process is too expensive, and she worried her inability to pay would put her on track for deportation.
With help from a local activist, Maria called her daughter’s school.
“There was an ICE raid that happened at the apartments where they live, and they are pretty terrified of leaving at this moment,” the activist, V Reeves, said to an administrator as they tried to avoid an unexcused absence.
“Yes, they're OK. They're here. They're safe,” Reeves said. “But please let other parents know that this is happening today. I'm just letting you know that active raids are happening.”
Federal agents established a perimeter in the street in front of the apartment complex while residents waited inside, according to Teddy D'Agostino, an activist who spent the night in a car outside.
They spotted agents with U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement, the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms and Explosives, the Drug Enforcement Administration and the Federal Bureau of Investigation.
“They had a guy with a battering ram and a guy with an armored shield, as well as two guys with rifles that were leading into each building, clearing each building,” D'Agostino said. “We could hear them banging on the doors. But yeah, they didn't have their [stuff] together. Every single department was saying something different.”
Federal agents were spotted at five other properties in Denver and Aurora on Wednesday. But D'Agostino said the authorities left The Edge emptyhanded, and it’s unclear how many people may have been arrested elsewhere.
“They didn't take any people,” they said.
Reeves scanned a text thread with everyone still living in the complex, confirming that all were accounted for. It was a sign that advocacy and “know your rights” trainings are working, they said.
“I'm really proud of them. Some of the kids were even still sleeping throughout the whole thing,” they said. “One of the people said, ‘My door doesn't have a proper lock. My door doesn't lock anymore.’ And they still stayed inside. I’m just really proud of them for knowing their rights throughout this. And it showed.”
Jocelyn and her neighbors were bracing for this for days.
The Edge became the focus of national election rhetoric this summer amid reports that the Venezuelan gang Tren de Aragua had established a presence in the rundown apartment complex.
The buildings eventually faded from the national conversation, but Reeves and other members of the activist group Housekeys Action Network of Denver (HAND) stuck around.
The city of Aurora is planning to close the complex due to long-standing neglect. Activists have rushed to move people into new housing before Feb. 18, the closure date.
Reeves said moving families is hard work. While many people living in the complex have jobs, their rental histories only listed this one controversial address. Employers were also hesitant to provide proof of income, Reeves added, as a result of President Trump’s threats of an immigration crackdown.
But Reeves said HAND was able to move over 85 people out of The Edge since December, thanks to a $50,000 grant to help with security deposits and other transitional expenses.
About 25 families were still living at the complex last week when word came around about federal raids. So, Reeves began staying overnight, hoping to protect the remaining residents.
“It's a huge target,” Reeves said last week.
The family hosting them was making breakfast and preparing to leave for the day.
“Trump has made a big deal about this particular area being a threat to society, so we definitely have folks living in constant fear of a surprise raid,” Reeves said.
In this apartment, the family had draped an American flag over the window, so as not to be seen by police.
People waited for the worst on Tuesday night.
Alejandra, another Edge resident, said she never sleeps at night anymore.
She and her wife had been through hell getting to the U.S., dodging violence and trekking treacherous landscapes on their way out of Venezuela. They knew being queer meant they had a larger target on their backs.
“Here we have no rest,” she said in Spanish. “Here we sleep during the day and stay awake practically all night.”
Rest was especially difficult to find on Tuesday. Reeves had heard the delayed raid might actually happen on Wednesday morning, and residents idled by on their phones and in front of TVs, waiting for something to happen.
Life has been very stressful, Alejandra said in Spanish. She was worried about the morning, and beyond frustrated that the government might want to arrest her. The crime and violence that put the Edge in the national spotlight has taken a toll on her, too.
“I was a victim here. And I didn't go to report it. Because really, it was out of fear. You understand me?” she said. “I was targeted and everything. With guns. With rifles. I have proof.”
Still, she was sad to leave the only community where she’s found a moment of rest since leaving Venezuela.
“Starting over in a new home is difficult, but we are used to it, for better or worse,” said Alejandra, who has applied for asylum.
Downstairs, Maria lay on a bed with her daughters. She stroked her belly, which showed another baby was on the way. There was so much here to protect.
“I work every day and fight for my children, because my daughters have so little, but I’m blessed,” she said.
Reeves had told Maria what to do if authorities arrived. They had pinned “know your rights” information inside each apartment, reminding people not to open the door unless agents slipped a warrant, signed by a judge, under the door.
It was part of a larger push to spread these tactics around the metro; officials might knock, and try to scare people into opening their doors, but people could avoid arrest if they sat tight.
Even Jocelyn’s one-year-old has learned how to react. The family recently practiced how to respond to an immigration raid. Someone knocked on their door, pretending to be “immigration.” The boy was ready; he ran into a closet.
Jocelyn and Reeves were proud of him for learning so quickly. But they agreed it was a terribly sad thing to learn so young.
