I didn’t sleep last night.
Not because of the heat. Not because of stress from work. But because I could hear helicopters circling above my apartment in Koreatown—and I knew why. I scrolled, doom-refreshed, texted my cousin in Westlake, and listened to the sirens echo down Wilshire like clockwork. You don’t forget that sound. Not when it means someone might be getting taken away.
Los Angeles is burning—not just in the headlines, but in our hearts. Everyone I know is either scared, pissed off, or both. People who’ve never marched are standing in the street with cardboard signs. The ICE vans are back. Downtown is smashed up. And if you step outside, the air feels like it’s holding its breath.
It started with ICE. Then it hit home.
The raids began quietly—if you can call 3 a.m. in Boyle Heights “quiet.” One video showed men being pulled into vans outside a bodega. By noon, it wasn’t quiet anymore.
You could feel the shift. WhatsApp groups went wild. “Don’t open the door.” “Avoid Olympic.” “Stay in.” People called their tias and cousins and said, “Are you okay?” Some families packed go-bags. Others didn’t come home from work. This city has lived through fear before—but this time it cracked open.
I don’t care what ICE says about “targeted arrests.” We’ve heard that line before. What I saw—what we all saw—was families sobbing, streets swarming, and neighborhoods on edge.
Also Read: ICE Raids Shake LA: Real Stories You Didn’t See on the News
Downtown felt like a war zone—but we kept walking
I went down to 6th and Spring the next day, and the tension was everywhere. You could see it in the way people crossed the street, in the graffiti on the walls (“NO ICE. NO FEAR.”), in the boarded-up Starbucks that was fine yesterday. A group was handing out water bottles to protestors while a police SUV idled just a few feet away.
Someone lit fireworks. Someone else screamed. A trash bin went up in flames. Suddenly, it wasn’t just a protest anymore—it was a pressure cooker.
They called in the National Guard. Marines. Helicopters. LA felt like it was under siege. Not just by the military. But by rage. Grief. Exhaustion. People just wanted to be heard—but it felt like no one was listening.
Also Read: ICE Operations in LA Trigger Massive Backlash, SEIU Calls It ‘War on Workers’
What you don’t see in the viral clips
The videos show the fires, the shouting, the arrests. But they don’t show the woman holding her son’s hand while handing out peanut butter sandwiches. Or the Uber driver who stopped to give protesters a ride for free. Or the corner store auntie taping up a sign: “Bathroom open. Water’s free.”
They don’t show how scared people are to even walk to the grocery store if they have a last name that sounds “foreign.” Or how hard it is to explain to your grandma why your cousin hasn’t come home yet.
There’s pain here—but there’s also community. There’s beauty in that, even now.
Everyone’s asking: What happens now?
Governor Newsom is suing the feds. ICE says more raids are coming. The streets are quieter today, but it doesn’t feel calm. It feels like the eye of the storm.
People are choosing how to show up: some are donating to legal defense funds. Some are making signs. Some are just surviving. And that’s enough.
If you’re reading this from outside LA: this is bigger than one city. It’s about who gets to feel safe, who gets to stay, and who gets to speak.
And right now, in LA, it doesn’t feel like we have answers. But we’re still here. We’re still marching. Still hoping. Still loud.
How to help (if you’re feeling helpless)
- Donate: Al Otro Lado, CHIRLA, Immigrant Defenders Law Center
- Drop supplies: Local community fridges, protest supply drives
- Speak up: Share verified footage and real stories
- Stay smart: If you protest, go with a buddy. Bring saline spray. Wear your mask.
And even if the headlines move on, we’ll remember what it felt like—because we lived it, together.
