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JOSE MOLINA has dedicated months to preparing for this summer. He organized giveaways and raffles, set up tables and screens for the World Cup matches, and crafted social media promotions for his food truck, El Pariente Mariscos y Mas, located in Woodburn, Oregon. “If you’re aiming to market to the Latino community,” Jose explains, “TikTok and Facebook are essential.”
In addition to his food truck and other ventures, including insurance, tax services, and construction, Jose runs a marketing company as well. “Let me show you our first video,” he says, scrolling through El Pariente’s TikTok account.
He clicks through previous posts featuring aguachiles, their top-selling dish—shrimp paired with creamy avocado, cucumber, and red onions, all soaked in lime juice and spicy sauces. He reminisces about popular menu items like carne asada and fresh tacos made with homemade tortillas. He reflects on posts celebrating Father’s Day, Mother’s Day, and the championship match of Mexico’s soccer league, before landing on a post from April 2025.
“People said eating here in the sun made them feel like they were back in Mexico,” he recalls as he shares the video that helped them sell out their inaugural weekend. In the heart of the Pacific Northwest, about seventy miles from the Oregon coast and over a thousand miles from the U.S.-Mexico border, Jose was not just selling food; he was selling a sense of nostalgia.
“Just a little bit of nostalgia,” he adds.
After a few months, El Pariente made its mark on downtown Woodburn. The sidewalks in the town square bustle with activity as vendors peddle fresh fruits and vegetables. Banners proclaim “Bienvenidos” and “Welcome,” with the community’s many Spanish-speaking agricultural workers filling the air with conversations in Español.
This vibrant scene has been woven into the fabric of Woodburn for decades. Approximately ninety-five percent of the businesses in downtown Woodburn are Latino-owned, and the neighborhood has affectionately been dubbed “Little Mexico.”
In the early days of his business, Jose recalls seeing kids play soccer in the grassy areas near El Pariente. “Soccer resonates here because it reminds them of home,” he observes.
For many in Woodburn, the concept of home has been a poignant topic lately. With the World Cup nearing, the question looms: would the residents of Woodburn gather once more in “Little Mexico” to watch and celebrate the games?
IN DOWNTOWN WOODBURN, Anthony Veliz recognizes familiar faces wherever he goes. Even after moving to Portland a year prior, he remains a vital presence in Woodburn. “I was the first Latino elected to the school board, and only the second city counselor,” he recalls over breakfast, savoring his ham and eggs. “And at that time, we were the majority.”
The late 1990s and early 2000s marked the period when Latinos first emerged as the majority in Woodburn—a shift initiated decades earlier due to the labor shortage from World War II.
During WWII, many who weren’t drafted moved to urban centers to fill jobs in the booming defense industry. Portland, slightly over thirty miles north, became a hub for shipbuilding, while farther north in Seattle, Boeing produced bombers. This, coupled with the forced internment of Japanese Americans—including U.S. citizens—created labor shortages for the berry-picking seasons in Oregon, known as the “Berry Center of the World.”
“My grandparents hail from Coahuila, Mexico,” Anthony shares, noting they arrived in 1943 as part of the Bracero Program, a bilateral agreement allowing transient workers to assist in the agricultural sector during the war.
“We now have five, six generations of Mexicanos, Mexican Americans, and Latinos,” Anthony observes regarding the evolution of Woodburn’s community. Although the Bracero Program ceased operations in 1964, many Mexican workers continued to reside and establish roots in the area, contributing to a diverse tapestry of life. Today, 61.4% of Woodburn’s population exceeds 31,000 residents are Latino.
From the beginning, the Braceros engaged in soccer during their downtime, bridging the gap between their new lives and their homeland.
“Soccer is ingrained in our identity and pride,” Anthony states.
EARLY IN AUGUST, a report from the Salem Statesman Journal highlighted the arrest of four Woodburn farmworkers en route to work at a nearby blueberry farm, intercepted by U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE).
Subsequent reports detailed that 31 additional residents were detained on October 30, 2025.
“The targeted individuals were long-time workers with families here. Oregon is their home,” stated Reyna Lopez, executive director of PCUN, a farmworker union and Latino advocacy organization based in Woodburn.
“ICE captured a van load of workers right in front of us,” Jose tells me, near his food truck. A community member shared a video of the incident on social media, alerting locals to avoid certain areas. This prompted downtown Woodburn to feel deserted.
On November 21, 2025, the Woodburn City Council declared a “local state of emergency” in response to the economic and humanitarian fallout from federal immigration enforcement actions.
As Reyna Lopez notes, the ICE presence in Woodburn diminished starting January 2026, yet it took time for many residents to regain a sense of security. In February, the Woodburn Independent reported that over 250 students from Woodburn High School staged a walkout to protest immigration enforcement.
“We have individuals who are just beginning to return, expressing they previously avoided going out due to fear,” says Nereyda Miranda, manager of El Pariente, as she prepares a delivery order. Last fall, she altered her route to work to bypass major streets, filled with anxiety about potential encounters with officials, often seeking comfort in prayer to calm her fears. “You have to be brave,” she asserts.
After several rainy days, the skies cleared, and with Mexico’s opening World Cup match on the horizon, “Latinos are back,” Jose states confidently. The May flowers bloom, butterflies flit about, and with summer’s arrival, Woodburn’s streets emanate a renewed optimism. The World Cup is here, and perhaps the games will serve as a welcome return to normalcy or a distraction from the changes confronting the community.
“The construction crew has arrived,” Jose announces as a truck pulls into El Pariente, just minutes before Mexico’s match against South Africa. They’re here to eat and watch the game, streaming it on an outdoor projector and an indoor screen, just as he meticulously planned.
“Ensure it’s in Spanish,” Jose instructs a staff member.
IN THE NINTH minute of the match, South Africa commits a foul right outside the box, granting Mexico’s Julián Quiñones the opportunity to score.
The crowd in what will always feel like Estadio Azteca erupts in celebration, shouting, hugging, and jumping—causing the very ground to quake with energy.
A Woodburn local, 2,798 miles from Mexico, shouts “GOOOOOAAAALLLL!” after spending two years away from his homeland. “I feel it more now,” he shares, of his appreciation while watching the games unfold. “Loss makes you value it differently.”
Jose joins the celebration, dressed in a U.S. soccer shirt while cheering for Mexico. Their shared joy and camaraderie illustrate the complex yet profound sense of belonging that thrives in Woodburn.
As friends text about the match outcomes and shared passions, there’s an underlying current uniting the community amidst the noise. For a few fleeting seconds, the politically charged and complex nature of such global events melts away, reducing it to a simple game played between two nations.
And in that brief moment, the emotion of Mexico scoring the first goal in the 2026 World Cup brings forth connection. Locals proudly donning their jerseys share the excitement, glancing at their phones, while sounds of laughter and camaraderie resonate from the nearby brewery as a musician weaves through the crowd, offering to play a song.
“COMMUNITY PRIDE IS visible everywhere,” Jorge Flores remarks from Woodburn High School’s soccer pitch, glancing at the stands adorned with nine state championship banners, all won since 2010. “This is truly a soccer community.”
At 38, having lived in Woodburn for 24 years, he fondly recalls his early days playing on dirt fields in Romita, Guanajuato.
He was just a teenager when he left in 2002, having been a member of Atlas’ youth academy—a foundational team known for developing talents who would represent Mexico on world stages. “I suffered an injury during a tournament,” he recounts, brushing his hand across his knee.
His uncle, already settled in Woodburn, encouraged him to explore opportunities there for education and the chance to learn English while possibly working in the fields.
The course of his journey shifted when a coyote guiding him and others during their treacherous crossing had to stop for gas; as they waited, a concerned passerby alerted authorities. Jorge recalls fleeing into the desert for two harrowing days, hiding from the dangers of hunger, heat, and potential death.
“The coyote found us on the third day,” Jorge recalls, casting his gaze over the lush green fields. Soon, he found himself in Woodburn. The first few months were daunting, living with his uncle, aunt, and cousins, but gradually he acclimated.
After a dozen years away, he returned to visit his family. He enrolled in Woodburn High School, learned English, and excelled in soccer over four varsity years. He married his high school sweetheart, and they now parent two sons. His aspirations shifted from returning home professionally, once his knee healed, to establishing roots where soccer could lead him to a meaningful education.
“If I were to be deported or forced to leave, I’d at least have my education,” he reflects, illustrating his drive. He graduated from Western Oregon University in 2015 and earned a master’s teaching degree from George Fox University four years later.
“I became a U.S. citizen last year,” Jorge states proudly. He visits Romita yearly, especially for Christmas, although he quickly finds himself yearning for Woodburn, his true home. Today, he serves as a Spanish teacher and head coach of Woodburn High’s boys’ soccer team, guiding young players who share stories similar to his own, navigating between two worlds.
“I understand their passion,” he empathizes with parents who dream for their children to reach professional soccer heights. He hopes, at minimum, they’ll graduate—an essential goal. Today, their graduation rate surpasses the state average, a significant improvement from the earlier days where dropout rates for Latinos approached 40%.
“I see soccer as a pathway, a chance to escape the berry fields that surround us. It’s a route away from early morning shifts for $15 an hour, working the soil and planting,” he articulates.
“I’VE LONGED FOR the day you’d realize how you’ve influenced my path,” the blind musician sings through his guitar, crooning of unreciprocated love.
As halftime approaches, attendees at El Pariente listen to the lyrics, touching on the themes of longing and yearning familiar to many in the crowd. The sadness and nostalgia encapsulated in these songs become a bittersweet anthem for the moment—celebrating their current realities intertwined with memories of home.
Food evokes memories of familiarity; songs serve to remind them of what was lost. The enthusiastic crowd that erupted after Mexico’s first goal quiets as they connect with the sentiments carried in the melody, revealing the weight of their shared experiences.
Nereyda, who typically wears smiles, has a solemn expression as she prepares micheladas.
“She’s from Sinaloa,” I learn, having relocated five years prior, seeking respite from complexities back home.
“The January snows have faded,” the guitar player continues, conveying the bittersweet reality of love as he strums, expressing emotions that resonate with those who understand love lost and yearning for what once was.
Don Bulma, as the community affectionately knows him, has carried on with his music since facing a stroke that left him nearly blind. Generously supported by community members, he continues to play and share, fostering connection and warmth among those he performs for.
WILDLY COLORFUL BUTTERFLIES tumbling amidst Woodburn’s vibrant murals tell tales of the resilience found in the land cultivated by generations of agricultural laborers. Yet, like many towns across America, Woodburn faced economic challenges, with the shadows of suburban flight and recession gutting downtown once vibrant with life.
As Latino businesses began populating the vacant storefronts, not all welcomed this transformation willingly.
“Some won’t even come downtown because of the Hispanic presence,” stated Mark J. Wilk, then-president of the Woodburn Downtown Association, about the changing demographics. “There’s a faction desiring a Woodburn reminiscent of the 1950s.” Some even questioned the appropriateness of murals like those depicting butterflies alongside imagery from Fiesta Mexicana—the yearly celebration concluding the harvest.
However, Council Member Jim Cox clarified, “If Latino businesses hadn’t settled in, the downtown would be empty.”
Elsewhere in town, butterflies also appear on a mosaic near Woodburn High School and across murals on farmworker housing on Park Avenue, where children often take to the soccer field nearby.
“They’re monarch butterflies,” artist Hector H. Hernandez explains, integrating art that signifies migration and transformation into Woodburn’s identity. “A Chicano is someone at peace with belonging to two cultures,” he conveys, reflecting the multitudes found in Woodburn—evidence of language interwoven into the community and soccer.
Throughout Woodburn, the presence of butterflies symbolizes transformation and connection to both homelands. During the spring when flowers bloom, they flutter through fields that echo the laboring past of families like Reyna Lopez’s, whose own parents traversed state lines for seasonal agricultural work.
“My parents, both from Michoacán and Sonora, worked tirelessly alongside fellow farmworkers,” Reyna recalls. “They toiled long hours, facing harsh conditions, yet aspired for a better future for me and my sister.”
In 1992, coinciding with Walmart’s expansion that drew jobs away from downtown Woodburn, Reyna’s union, PCUN, worked to secure housing for its members. Yet, when a significant housing project was underway, a letter arrived filled with xenophobic rhetoric that questioned the impact of Latino communities.
“We want you to succeed in your education,” Reyna’s father urged her, underscoring his aspirations for her.
Fast forward to 2008, she found herself among the few Latinas in the Oregon State Capitol, grappling with the excerpts of laws impacting her community’s rights, compelling her to raise her voice in solidarity.
“Grateful to celebrate my culture, it’s vital to showcase the beauty of being Mexican American in the U.S. today,” Reyna reflects on her journey as she leads PCUN.
However, last fall, due to ICE activities, her role pivoted swiftly from advocating for better working conditions to ensuring families had safety plans amid heightened stress and fear permeating the community.
“People were afraid to even open their doors,” Reyna states of her union members. With the cold, darkest months presenting palpable tension, local gatherings quieted. The soccer fields felt emptier, with children missing from the parks that once buzzed with spirit.
“WHAT DOES IT MEAN to wear a Mexico jersey?” I ask Eddy Sanchez and Antonio Calderon, who stand, hand over heart, as the Mexican national anthem plays before the match.
“It means everything,” Eddy responds passionately. “It’s a status symbol,” Antonio adds. “It’s pride. When you see that bright green and maroon from afar, you recognize it’s part of us.”
Eddy dons the jersey of Raúl Jimenez, who just scored Mexico’s second goal, while Antonio wears Santiago Gimenez’s maroon.
“During times of fear, we didn’t see this collective spirit,” Eddie recalls, reminiscing about when he’d run errands for family so they could stay in. “Enjoying a meal and having fun almost felt like a distant memory,” Antonio concurs.
They refocus on the match, Mexico leading 2-0 with only fifteen minutes remaining. Belief grows in the air.
“I hope Mexico reaches the farthest point possible,” Eddy declares, encouraged by their strong start.
IN THE SPOT where Café La Onda once stood, bare countertops remain where underlying aromas of coffee and breakfast mingled with laughter and conversation. Once a community hub, it now echoes a sense of loss.
Andrew Yoshihara, the last café owner, lamented its closure. “It was a gathering space,” he reflects. “Being mixed and presenting Black in Portland, it was a refreshing change for me to come here.”
Café La Onda served various coffee varieties from different Mexican regions, invoking a sense of home for its patrons and boasting a popular breakfast sandwich.
Despite early success, Andrew describes how shifting administration and rising tariffs complicated operations, raising costs and pricing out customers, leading to its closure in February.
“No one will be grabbing coffee and chatting tomorrow morning,” Andrew notes, as the absence of fellowship lingers.
A GROUP OF four young soccer players kick a ball together, celebrating summer break by watching Mexico’s 2-0 victory over South Africa before heading to Legion Park, where a new turf field lies—thanks to Amazon’s presence. They aspire for the Mexican national team to achieve a deep run this World Cup.
Sixteen-year-old Lupita, alongside her cousins Camila (12), Kevin (12), and Anthony (9), all raise dreams of college, professional soccer, and the hope that this year marks a significant advance for their team.
After years of near-misses, they share stories of their hopes for Mexico to finally break through to the quarterfinals.
“We want to play professionally,” Anthony asserts. “At least make it to college,” Kevin adds.
Amid fleeting childhood innocence and aspirations, they understand the potential for abrupt change—an awareness they’ve cultivated over the past year.
“I love soccer,” Lupita shares, recognizing it as an outlet that allows her to work through emotions on the field.
SITTING UNDER the shade of Woodburn’s downtown plaza, the water tower looms in sight—emblems of the town’s identity stirring memories of my own hometown, Ciudad Juárez, Mexico, evoking tranquility as I reminisce about familial connections and shared experiences.
I didn’t anticipate feeling this way.
Of all the places I’ve been, filled with differing emotions of joy, grief, and excitement, Woodburn feels different. I sensed familiarity in the interactions with the residents, drawing parallels to memories and culture that persist despite distances.
Growing up in El Paso, I recognized the vibrancy of bilingual signs and life surrounding Latino communities, where customs blend together. But in Woodburn, the familiarity unfolded in an unexpected way; it felt like a different space filled with analogous experiences and rich connections.
Woodburn offered reminders of experiences from my childhood—the dreams, struggles, and resilience of those who risked for better futures. Here, I saw my own past reflected in the stories of the people living out what it meant to nurture a legacy.
I felt warmth and connection amidst the struggles, as many lent their voices to uplift the community through sports, culture, and solidarity. Watching the World Cup here, in Oregon, I felt compassion toward a community I’ve never lived in yet felt a profound bond with.
YEARS INTO THE FUTURE, echoes of the joy the Mexican team brought to the 2026 World Cup will be recounted—a collective spirit ignited by the team’s resilience throughout the tournament, leaving fans eager for more.
In due course, a new champion will emerge, fans united wherever they are, and children will chase dreams of greatness on fields across the world.
As August approaches, Woodburn will host its annual Fiesta Mexicana, celebrating culture alongside local soccer tournaments, invigorating the community spirit.
With winter’s chill nearing, the butterflies of Woodburn will commence their migration southward across Oregon, cascading into California until they reach the mountainous terrains of central Mexico.
In the spring, they will return to Woodburn once more.
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