In Rural Colorado, Retirees and Activists Unite to Protect Their Immigrant Neighbors

In the high desert towns of southwest Colorado — places like Cortez, a one-hour drive from the nearest city — solidarity is taking a quiet, deliberate form. After roughly 20 people were detained by immigration authorities in La Plata County during 2025, neighbors decided they would not simply watch from their windows. As Reasons to be Cheerful reported in September 2025, residents across the region began organizing to support and protect their immigrant neighbors, turning fear into practical, coordinated action.

The shape of that organizing is striking precisely because of who is doing it. At a Know Your Rights training in Cortez, roughly 40 attendees showed up — many of them mostly white, retirement-age community members who could easily have stayed uninvolved. Instead they came to learn how to help, how to document encounters and how to stand beside families who might otherwise face the system alone. Montezuma County, where about 3,200 Hispanic residents make up some 12 percent of the population, now counts 16 trained rapid-response volunteers ready to mobilize.

“After roughly 20 people were detained by immigration authorities in La Plata County during 2025, neighbors decided they would not simply watch from their windows.”

The organizers speak about their work in terms of law and persistence rather than confrontation. "The law is a tool. If you don't use it, it will not do anything good," said community organizer Beatriz Garcia Waddell. Activist Mariana Stump described the daily rhythm of the effort with disarming simplicity: "We just keep spreading the word to let the community know they're not alone." Groups including the Colorado Immigrant Rights Coalition, the grassroots Manos Unidad and the Colorado Rapid Response Network have woven these scattered towns into a connected web of support.

What makes the story hopeful is not that it solves a vast and painful national debate, but that it shows what neighborliness looks like under pressure. In rural places often imagined as politically uniform or indifferent, people of different backgrounds and ages are choosing to know their neighbors' names, learn their rights, and show up. That choice — repeated in church basements and community halls across the region — is a reminder that the smallest unit of a humane society is still the neighbor who decides that someone nearby will not have to face hardship alone.