Arshad Mahmood Awan
The recent eruption of unrest in Los Angeles—a city symbolic of American wealth and diversity—presents an unsettling portrait of a nation in internal disarray. Images of troops on the streets and protestors clashing with law enforcement, triggered by federal immigration raids, more closely resemble footage from conflict zones than scenes from a so-called advanced democracy. Ironically, this is the kind of upheaval President Donald Trump often associates with “Third World countries,” yet it is unfolding in one of America’s most cosmopolitan urban centers.
This confrontation is not merely about immigration enforcement; it is a manifestation of America’s deepening ideological fracture. On one side stands the federal government, controlled by Trump’s Republican establishment, determined to crack down on undocumented migrants. On the other is California’s Democratic leadership, advocating a more humane and inclusive approach. Governor Gavin Newsom’s defiant response to the federal clampdown—accusing Trump of manufacturing a crisis and calling him a “dictator”—underscores the depth of this internal schism.
The immediate catalyst for the unrest was a series of raids launched by federal immigration officers last Friday in LA neighborhoods with significant immigrant populations. Officially, the raids targeted “illegal migrants and gang members,” yet residents and activists argue that the real target was the city’s Hispanic community. In response to the growing protests, the Trump administration deployed thousands of National Guard troops and even Marines—a gesture that seems less about enforcing law and more about asserting political muscle.
This crisis is symptomatic of broader cultural and political currents that have been brewing in the United States over the past decade. Immigration, once viewed as a cornerstone of American identity, has become a battleground for competing visions of the nation’s future. Trump’s “Make America Great Again” (MAGA) movement has succeeded in weaponizing fears around immigration, portraying undocumented workers not only as lawbreakers but as existential threats to American jobs, safety, and culture. By contrast, liberal Americans see immigration control measures—especially mass raids—as cruel, racist, and fundamentally un-American.
The narrative pushed by right-wing populists, however, has gained traction across many Western societies—not just in the U.S. In both Europe and North America, far-right movements have tapped into growing economic anxieties, painting immigrants as scapegoats for unemployment, housing shortages, and even national decline. This rhetoric often masks deep-seated racial prejudices, even as it masquerades as concern for national security or economic welfare.
What makes this scapegoating especially problematic is its hypocrisy. While immigrants are demonized in public discourse, the very same societies rely heavily on them to perform essential, low-wage, and often undesirable work. From agriculture to elder care, from janitorial services to restaurant kitchens, immigrants fill labor gaps that native citizens are increasingly unwilling to occupy. In Los Angeles, as in countless other global cities, the contribution of immigrants—both documented and undocumented—is woven into the fabric of daily life.
Yes, every sovereign state has the right to regulate its borders and enforce immigration laws. But this right does not extend to collective punishment, dehumanization, or the use of military force against peaceful demonstrators. The deployment of Marines in civilian neighborhoods signals a dangerous overreach—one that risks eroding the very democratic principles it claims to uphold. It also sets a disturbing precedent for how dissent is managed in an increasingly polarized society.
The implications of these developments extend far beyond the borders of the United States. For countries like Pakistan, which sees tens of thousands of its citizens migrate annually in search of better lives, these events offer a sobering lesson. The global climate for immigration is hardening. Host countries are no longer the welcoming havens they once appeared to be. Xenophobia is on the rise, legal pathways are narrowing, and public opinion is increasingly swayed by populist narratives.
Pakistan must not ignore this shift. Policymakers in Islamabad would be wise to invest in domestic economic opportunities that reduce the need for citizens to seek uncertain futures abroad. Moreover, there should be stronger diplomatic engagement with host countries to ensure the rights and dignity of Pakistani immigrants are protected, especially in times of political volatility.
In sum, the immigration crackdown in Los Angeles is not an isolated incident—it is a signal flare for the challenges of the present and the storm clouds of the future. It illustrates how easily political agendas can override human rights, and how quickly democratic norms can be compromised when power is used to silence dissent rather than engage with it. It also serves as a reminder that societies must choose between two futures: one that leans into division, fear, and exclusion, and another that embraces pluralism, compassion, and justice.
The world is watching what America does next. But countries like Pakistan must also reflect—and prepare—for a global era in which immigration is no longer a guaranteed route to prosperity, but a terrain marked by risk, rejection, and resistance.
