It didn’t start with a nonprofit grant or a polished app pitch. It started with a TikTok—and a wave of panic. Celeste, a 30-year-old second-generation Mexican American, was scrolling through videos when she saw people frantically posting ICE raid locations with no structure, no verification, just chaos.
“There’s got to be a better way to do this,” she thought.
So she built one. A Google Form, a hand-plotted map, and one social post later, the country’s most widely used ICE raid map was born.
A few days—and a few thousand miles—away, Kat, a Latina mother of four and public school educator, saw that same map and reached out. They had never met. But together, they would turn a moment of fear into a digital tool that now protects millions.
How a Moment of Panic Led to the ICE Raid Map Used by Millions
What Celeste saw that day wasn’t new. ICE agents have long relied on silence and surprise to carry out raids. But the scale of fear—and the speed at which information was being scattered across social media—was overwhelming.
“I just wanted to visualize it. Pick up on patterns. See where it was happening,” Celeste says.
Within hours of creating a public Google Form and plotting the data on a shared map, submissions started pouring in. The map went viral.
Then Kat messaged her:
“I don’t know what I can do, but I’m a quick learner. I’m good with Excel. Whatever you need, I want to help.”
The map wasn’t just filling a gap—it was becoming a lifeline.
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Digital Mutual Aid, at Scale
Kat brought structure. She suggested moving the project to Padlet, a platform more suited to real-time collaboration and community updates. It made the system faster, more stable, and easier to verify.
Together, they named the project People Over Papers. In six months, it’s grown from a one-woman spreadsheet to a nationwide platform with over 9 million users, 37 million views, and a volunteer team of 40 people working across time zones to verify ICE sightings in real time.
Submissions follow a process inspired by the SALUTE method (Size, Activity, Location, Unit, Time, Equipment). Reliable posts are tagged “Confirmed.” Strong-but-incomplete reports get labeled accordingly. Photos, timestamps, and on-the-ground cross-checks help keep things accurate.
“We post about 85 to 90 percent of what comes in,” Kat explains.
What started as a community map now includes legal referrals, protest safety info, and plans to expand into searchable archives. The goal is clear: real-time protection, built by and for the people most at risk.
When the Government Starts Watching
Demand for the map surged as ICE began sweeping raids in cities like L.A., Chicago, and Newark—targeting workers in agriculture, hospitality, and construction. The administration deployed the National Guard to California and Marines to Southern streets for the first time since 1965. Homeland Security Secretary Kristi Noem called the campaign “just the beginning.”
For Celeste, that wasn’t abstract. Earlier this month, her brother picked up a coworker on the way to work. An unmarked truck cut them off. Then three more surrounded the car. ICE agents detained the coworker on the spot. “It’s getting closer and closer to home,” she says.
The pressure isn’t just personal—it’s also political. A recent WIRED report revealed that Army intelligence analysts flagged People Over Papers as a potential “national security concern.” The irony isn’t lost on its creators.
“We have a First Amendment right to make a tool like this,” Celeste says. “We’re showing what’s happening. That’s it.”
Still, safety protocols have tightened. NDAs. VPNs. A formal vetting rubric. Kat’s daughter helps manage cyber security behind the scenes.
“I was scared at first,” she admits. “But I’m also proud. I see people sharing the map online—and no one knows it’s hers.”
Built by Women. Built for Survival.
Kat and Celeste have never met in person. But they talk every day. They tease each other about music (Celeste’s obsessed with Bad Bunny), remind each other to take breaks, and gently push each other through the burnout.
“She tells me to touch grass,” Kat laughs. “I tell her to take a nap.”
They’re building this as Latina women, mothers, daughters, professionals. As people who understand what it’s like to live close to fear but refuse to be paralyzed by it.
“I have friends who grew up exactly like me,” Celeste says. “The only difference is papers.”
To Noemi Jimenez, an immigrant rights organizer in Texas who now helps moderate the map, that clarity is everything.
“They had what it took,” she says. “And what it took was ganas”—grit, commitment, and the unshakable will to act.
Kat and Celeste are now applying for nonprofit status and hope to one day work on the project full-time. But for now, they’re still doing this on the side—between day jobs, kids, and sleep. And they’re doing it their way.
“We want to keep this women-based. Latina-led,” Kat says. “We didn’t build this for clicks. We built it to keep people safe.”