If Trump Proceeds With His Mass Deportations, We All May Be Asked To Stand And Be Counted

"A Logo For America" by Alfredo Jaar

I live in L.A. About half the residents identify as Latino. Between 800,000 and a million of my fellow Angelenos are undocumented. I’ve never asked anyone if they’re undocumented but I know people from Latin America, India, the Philippines, South Korea, Israel, Armenia and Iran who probably are undocumented. There are also migrants from Ireland, Ethiopia, Nigeria, Bangladesh, Samoa, Russia, Ukraine, Italy, Poland and other countries who call Los Angeles home but who have no papers. A school teacher friend told me he thinks that in his school at least a third of the students are undocumented and over 80% have at least one parent who is. I doubt there’s anyone in L.A. who doesn’t know someone who is undocumented.

Now imagine it: you’re at home, and the news breaks that Trump is really doing it; federal agents have descended on the city with orders from Stephen Miller to “cleanse” neighborhoods of undocumented residents— and not gently. Word spreads quickly: checkpoints at metro stations, schools, grocery stores. The undocumented neighbors you’ve passed on the street for years, the ones whose children play at the park with yours, most of the shopkeepers, the woman who always remembers your coffee order, your gardener— they’re all potential targets.

For most people, the initial instinct is disbelief. But what happens next reveals everything about who we are as a society— and who each of us is as a person.

Across the city, there are people who do nothing— maybe out of fear, maybe out of exhaustion, or maybe because they feel it has nothing to do with them. These are the people who see and step away, who have trained themselves to look elsewhere. But history reminds us that some will go further, crossing the line from apathy to active collaboration. In 2016, 769,743 people (22.41%) voted for Trump. In 2020 it was 1,145,530 (26.86%). Last week’s results for L.A. are still being tabulated but the number is going to be significantly larger. Statewide, 39.8% voted for him (compared to 34.32% in 2020 and 31.62% in 2016. 

In Nazi-occupied France, for example, local citizens occasionally turned on their neighbors, reporting Jewish families to authorities. Some were motivated by antisemitism, others by the hope of financial reward, and still others by a belief that this cooperation might protect their own families. The same happened in parts of occupied Eastern Europe, where certain individuals cooperated with Nazi forces to round up those who had been part of their communities for generations. One betrayal was all it took to doom entire families.

But then, there are the people who find the courage to intervene, to protect the persecuted at enormous personal risk. We see examples of this in Europe as well, such as the courageous Danish people who defied the Nazis. When Hitler ordered the deportation of Danish Jews, thousands of Danish citizens took immediate action. They smuggled Jewish families to the coast and across the sea to neutral Sweden, saving nearly 8,000 people from concentration camps.

The Dutch, too, have a powerful story. In Amsterdam, Otto Frank, his family, and others went into hiding in the now-famous attic of a local business to escape capture. Dutch citizens risked their lives to shelter them, providing food, information, and support in a country where such acts were punishable by death. The story of Anne Frank endures as a testament to both the bravery and, tragically, the dangers faced by those who dared to help.

These choices are profoundly dangerous. The people in Nazi-occupied Europe who protected the hunted did so at great personal risk. Some were threatened, beaten or executed and yet they chose to act. Today, the stakes may not be life or death— but the consequences are still severe. Those who choose to protect undocumented neighbors could face legal consequences, reputational harm, social isolation… That’s the weight of knowing we’ve done the right thing in a Project 2025 America.

There will always be others who find the courage to intervene, to find ways to help. We’ve seen this before. Not long ago, there was a wave of “rapid response networks” springing up across the country, where ordinary people would mobilize to alert communities when ICE raids took place. Ordinary neighbors became lookouts, distributing information, offering sanctuary, or organizing legal aid.

By the way, are you a Leonard Cohen fan? This wasn't ever on the radio much, but give it a listen:

When they poured across the border

I was cautioned to surrender

This I could not do

I took my gun and vanished.

I have changed my name so often

I've lost my wife and children

But I have many friends

And some of them are with me

An old woman gave us shelter

Kept us hidden in the garret

Then the soldiers came

She died without a whisper

There were three of us this morning

I'm the only one this evening

But I must go on

The frontiers are my prison

Oh, the wind, the wind is blowing

Through the graves the wind is blowing

Freedom soon will come

Then we'll come from the shadows

Les Allemands étaient chez moi

Ils me dirent, "résigne toi"

Mais je n'ai pas peur

J'ai repris mon âme

J'ai changé cent fois de nom

J'ai perdu femme et enfants

Mais j'ai tant d'amis

J'ai la France entière

Un vieil homme dans un grenier

Pour la nuit nous a caché

Les Allemands l'ont pris

Il est mort sans surprise

Oh, the wind, the wind is blowing

Through the graves the wind is blowing

Freedom soon will come

Then we'll come from the shadows

Maybe nothing will come of it but it’s probably better if we all consider this: if the day comes, and the city’s vulnerable are again targeted, where will you stand? Will you look away, as some did then? Or will you be among those who choose courage over complicity?