Adrian Florido

Adrian Florido is a reporter for NPR's Code Switch team, where he covers race, identity, and culture.

Before joining NPR in 2015, Florido was a reporter at Member station KPCC in Los Angeles, where he covered public and community health. Prior to that, he was at KPBS in San Diego, reporting on the U.S.-Mexico border, immigration, and demographics as a member of the Fronteras Desk, a team of reporters covering the changing Southwest. He began his journalism career reporting on people and neighborhoods at the Voice of San Diego.

Florido is a Southern California native. He graduated from the University of Chicago with a degree in history, with an emphasis on the U.S. and Latin America. He was news editor of the student paper, the Chicago Maroon. He's a runner and loves good coffee and great music. He has a particular love of traditional string music from the Mexican state of Veracruz, a style often called Son Jarocho. He travels to Veracruz as often as possible to learn from master musicians. He's also one of the organizers of the Fandango Fronterizo, an annual event during which musicians gather on both sides of the U.S.-Mexico border and play together through the fence that separates San Diego from Tijuana.

You can listen to Florido's stories here, and follow him on Twitter at @adrianflorido.


Valery Pozo still gets angry thinking about it. It was about a decade ago, and the immigrant communities in her hometown, Salt Lake City, were on edge because of recent immigration enforcement raids in the area. Pozo's mother, an immigrant from Peru, was on the sidelines at her son's soccer game when another parent asked whether she was "illegal."

"To me, that was clearly a racist question and a racist assumption," Pozo recalled.

But her mother saw it as a harmless comment, despite Pozo's best efforts to convince her that it was something bigger.

As the water rose on their first-floor apartment, Rosa Sosa and her family fled to a vacant unit on the second floor. They watched in horror as it continued to rise, as it swallowed most of the cars in the parking lot that rings their sprawling two-story complex, as it stuck around, stubbornly, even after the rain stopped.

Presidential candidate Donald Trump's proposal to deport all 11 million immigrants living in the country illegally, along with their U.S.-born children, sounds far-fetched. But something similar happened before.

During the 1930s and into the 1940s, up to 2 million Mexicans and Mexican-Americans were deported or expelled from cities and towns across the U.S. and shipped to Mexico. According to some estimates, more than half of these people were U.S. citizens, born in the United States.