Sadiq S BhatLos Angeles, California — The hum of helicopters overhead mixes with chants rising from the street of Downtown Los Angeles.
On the seventh consecutive day of protests, LA is in no mood to rest. The marches continue.
Hundreds have gathered once again outside City Hall, chanting, dancing, holding hands — a human wall against the federal government's clampdown on undocumented migrants.
The phrase that echoes the loudest here is the same one spray-painted on storefronts and walls all over the second biggest American city: "ICE out of L.A."
This city has become the epicentre of a national reckoning over immigration, identity and power.
LA, home to Hollywood, now feels trapped inside a movie. The smoke isn't from special effects, and the screams aren't rehearsed.
Behind police lines and beneath looming federal buildings, people like Gus — a Mexican-American man — stands beneath a hand-painted sign that reads: We Are Not Your Enemy.
He speaks plainly: "They're taking families that have worked hard and done nothing but work and pay taxes. They should be accepted. We should start mass integration instead of deportations."
As Gus talks, the sky darkens just slightly, not from nightfall, but from the wide, lazy blades of a military chopper circling above.
Below, in sharp contrast, a group of young Latinas line-dance to Payaso de Rodeo, a Spanish-language country anthem. Their boots thud rhythmically on the pavement, brief laughter mixing with protest.
Minutes later, the police begin to push.
Officers in riot gear move forward with shields raised, forcing the dancers to scatter before the 8 pm curfew. It's the same each night now — joy, then rupture.
At the federal detention centre nearby, families and friends wait. Many haven't heard from their loved ones since they were swept up in raids last weekend.
Immigration agents have held raids in Oxnard and fanned out across communities in Ventura and Santa Barbara counties, home to California's famed strawberries, avocados, and celery crops.
The raids are part of a broad new immigration push by US Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE), bolstered by the presence of over 4,000 National Guard troops and 700 active-duty Marines — the first time in decades a US president has deployed troops this way against the wishes of a state governor.
President Donald Trump says it was necessary.
"If I wasn't there, Los Angeles would have been burning to the ground," he told reporters, claiming California's governor "lost control."
A US judge on Thursday temporarily barred President Trump from deploying National Guard troops in Los Angeles.
Judge Charles Breyer ordered the National Guard to return to the control of California Governor Gavin Newsom, who sued to restrict its activity. Breyer's order will take effect at noon on Friday.
Earlier today, chaos briefly replaced protocol when Senator Alex Padilla was physically removed from a Homeland Security press briefing inside a packed federal building in LA.
The California lawmaker had risen to question Secretary Kristi Noem about the scope and legality of recent ICE raids gripping the city. But before he could speak, security officers closed in.
Caught in a political brawl
Meanwhile, Jose Padilla (no relation to the Senator), a soft-spoken Californian, joins the protest holding his son's hand.
"I oppose ICE going into schools, churches, and all that, taking people… taking children," he says. "That’s not what this country’s supposed to be."
Local authorities say the state will "fiercely protect people's rights to peacefully assemble" but also warned that those who engage in violence, theft, or property destruction would face severe consequences.
For many in the protests, the sight of troops on their streets feels like an alarm bell.
"You're preying on people at this point," says Alexandra, a protester who has come to protest with her friends.
"I don't care if you came here illegally. If you pay tax like I do — what's the difference?"
Another protester, Ivy, a Native American, adds: "No one is illegal on stolen land."
After sunset, the curfew clears the streets of traffic, commerce, and the casual rhythms of LA life. But some protesters remain.
Even with cop cars drifting through alleyways, the marchers return, night after night.
"It's like living in the middle of a slow-moving storm," says a resident near Salazar Park, glancing at the line of cop cars rolling past her.
"The helicopters, the sirens, the silence between. It's very disruptive to day-to-day life."
By day, the city moves through a strange choreography of protest and policing. People bring snacks, first aid kits, and mobile loudspeakers. By night, the soundscape shifts: sirens, flashbangs, the whir of choppers.
Alondra Hernandez, a college student from LA, shrugs when asked why she is showing up. "We're exercising our rights," she says.
The words of California's governor Gavin Newsom echo on local radio here: "Democracy is under assault right before our eyes."
And yet, in the middle of it all, amid the politics and posturing, the curfews and confrontations, are people like Paula, who stands at the barricades.
"Don't give up," she whispers to no one in particular. "This is our country."
