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If California is a sign of the future, it seems ever clearer that the courts have little appetite for standing in the way of this president.
“I must say,” Donald Trump commented, “I wish we had an occupying force.” It was June 1, 2020. The president, then in his first term in office, was having a phone call with the nation’s governors to discuss the ongoing Black Lives Matter (BLM) protests taking place nationwide in response to the murder of George Floyd at the hands of a Minneapolis policeman. He was urging the governors to call in the National Guard in response to BLM protests in their states. Otherwise, he threatened he would do so himself. “You have to dominate,” he told them, while labeling the protesters “terrorists.” Otherwise, he claimed, “they are going to run over you.”
Later that morning, Trump left the White House and took his infamous walk through Lafayette Park, where members of the Washington National Guard, the FBI, the Drug Enforcement Administration, and several other agencies, joined by guard units from a number of states, confronted protesters. As I recounted in my book Subtle Tools, “Protesters threw eggs, candy bars, and water bottles, while law enforcement shot rubber bullets, launched pepper balls, and fired tear gas into the crowd.”
Several weeks later, protests in Portland, Oregon, tested the president’s resolve to send in an “occupying force.” Although he didn’t then go as far as to send in the National Guard, as he had threatened in that phone meeting, he did deploy federal agents to counter the protesters without consulting the governor of that state. Seven hundred and seventy-five Department of Homeland Security agents from U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement, U.S. Customs and Border Protection, and elsewhere appeared on the streets of Portland, authorized by a presidential edict to protect federal buildings. As if to intentionally blur the borderline between military and civilian authorities, the federal agents arrived dressed in black military-looking uniforms without identifying insignia and drove unmarked vehicles. The administration justified the deployment by arguing that local law enforcement was unable to effectively control the protests.
Not surprisingly, Oregon Governor Kate Brown and Portland Mayor Ted Wheeler protested, claiming that local law enforcement was perfectly capable of handling the protests without federal aid, and that the presence of federal agents, with their aggressive tactics, including the use of tear gas and rubber bullets, had only provoked the protesters, making the situation much worse.
Sound familiar? Fast forward to today in Los Angeles.
Donald Trump is once again president, and immigration raids across the country are hurrying to meet the White House target of 3,000 arrests per day. This time around, Los Angeles has become the focal point of the resulting battle over federal versus state authority. In early June, responding to an outbreak of protests challenging the administration’s brutal immigration raids, Trump sent 700 active-duty Marines and 4,100 National Guard into that city to counter the protesters. Los Angeles Mayor Karen Bass, California Governor Gavin Newsom, and California Attorney General Bonta have protested resoundingly, claiming, like their Portland counterparts, that the deployment was unnecessary and counterproductive. Mayor Bass has maintained that the local authorities “had the situation under control,” concluding that “there was no need for the National Guard.” Summing up the consequences of the deployment, Governor Newsom considered them to be “intentionally causing chaos, terrorizing communities, and endangering the principles of our great democracy. It is an unmistakable step toward authoritarianism.” Attorney General Bonta echoed Newsom by insisting that the troops were instigating violence, not defusing it, and suing the Trump administration (unsuccessfully so far) for illegally taking over a state National Guard.
Where all of this may be headed is anyone’s guess, but Portland’s attempts in 2020 to fight back against the deployment of federal agents, despite the wishes of local authorities, provide some guidance about what to expect, as well as lessons learned when it comes to the role of the courts, of dissent by local and state leaders, and of the path down which American law may be headed in relation to the president’s ability to usurp the power of local authorities.
The Law
The battle over federal versus state authority is rooted in laws pertaining to presidential powers. The Posse Comitatus Act, as former United States Attorney Joyce Vance explains, “prohibits the federal government from using the military inside of the domestic United States for law enforcement, absent truly compelling circumstances.” But there are exceptions. Title 10 of the U.S. Code fleshes them out, authorizing the president to federalize the National Guard and deploy it to a state in rare instances of invasion, rebellion, or the need to “execute [federal] laws.”
In Portland in 2020, President Trump labelled the protesters “terrorists” and threatened to bring in the National Guard if the protests didn’t stop. Yet days later, he pulled back from that threat, telling George Stephanopoulos on ABC News that such a move would have violated the law. “We have to go by the laws,” he said then. “We can’t move in the National Guard. I can call insurrection but there’s no reason to ever do that, even in a Portland case.” He further concluded that “we can’t call in the National Guard unless we’re requested by a governor.”
My, how things have changed!
On June 7th, Trump issued a memorandum declaring his authority to deploy both the National Guard and the armed services. “In light of these incidents and credible threats of continued violence,” the memo authorized the secretary of defense to coordinate with governors to deploy both the National Guard and “any other members of the regular Armed Forces as necessary to augment and support the protection of Federal functions and property in any number determined appropriate in his discretion.” In other words, Secretary of Defense Pete Hegseth was given unprecedented authority to direct events on the home front, challenging the Posse Comitatus Act’s prohibitions.
Since then, 4,100 National Guardsmen and 700 Marines have arrived in Los Angeles. Their presence has been notably aggressive. Meanwhile, Department of Homeland Security agents have swarmed the streets, local employment places, and immigration offices, not wearing identifying insignia (as occurred in Portland). As Nick Turse reported at The Intercept, “Since June 8, there have been 561 arrests related to protests across Los Angeles; 203, for failure to disperse, were made on the night of June 10, after Trump ordered in the National Guard and Marines.” Meanwhile, Trump used the growing conflict to threaten Governor Newsom with arrest.
Justifying his deployments, the president labelled the protesters “insurrectionists,” laying the groundwork for invoking the Insurrection Act, which, as Joyce Vance explains, “allows the military to be used for domestic law enforcement, but — and it’s an important caveat — only to restore order.”
For help in pushing back against the deployments, California officials, like their Portland predecessors, have turned to the courts. This time around, however, the Trump administration has revised its reading of what is lawful and, so far, the judiciary seems to be bending the president’s way.
The Courts
On June 9th, Governor Newsom filed suit in federal court, claiming that the deployment of the Guard and the Marines violated the Constitution and exceeded the president’s Title 10 authority. The suit argued that the deployments were unwarranted and the administration had failed to try to coordinate with the governor. California Attorney General Rob Bonta elaborated on the limitations of the law: “Let me be clear: There is no invasion. There is no rebellion. The President is trying to manufacture chaos and crisis on the ground for his own political ends. Federalizing the California National Guard is an abuse of the President’s authority under the law — and not one we take lightly. We’re asking a court to put a stop to the unlawful, unprecedented order.”
In 2020, the Oregon attorney general had filed suit in federal court in response to the actions of the federal agents. As the New York Times reported, “The lawsuit said federal agents were violating the First, Fourth, and Fifth Amendments to the Constitution by denying the right to peacefully protest, failing to provide due process and conducting unreasonable searches and seizures.” Ultimately, the federal judge dismissed the case, claiming that “the attorney general’s office did not have standing to bring the case because it had not shown that the issue was ‘an interest that is specific to the state itself.’” The Oregon court also shied away from tackling the larger question of what powers the federal government actually had in such situations.
Suits brought by private parties, as well as the American Civil Liberties Union, on behalf of individuals (journalists in particular), who were injured, harassed, or “abducted” by federal agents were more successful. Initially, a judge expanded a temporary restraining order (TRO) from local law enforcement to federal agents, blocking the use of tear gas and projectiles against journalists. As the suit progressed, more weapons in the federal agents’ arsenal, including rubber bullets, were prohibited.
When the president asked for the TRO to be removed, the judge not only refused, but levied a requirement that government agents wear identifying insignia — an effort to introduce a measure of accountability into the conflict on the ground.
On appeal, the Ninth Circuit Court of Appeals raised the larger issue of federal versus local authority, resoundingly rejecting the legality of the presence of federal agents in Portland, while agreeing with the lower court’s finding of “a disturbing pattern of unwarranted force by federal agents.” That court not only reinstated the TRO against federal agents attacking journalists but underscored the fact that federal agents had gone beyond protecting federal buildings to actively confronting protesters, while widening the “perimeter” in which they could act outside those buildings and so wrongfully overstepping the authorities expressly reserved for local law enforcement.
And at that time, there was also help from within Trump’s circle. In a settlement arranged between Oregon Governor Kate Brown and Vice President Mike Pence’s staff, federal law enforcement officers were indeed replaced with members of the Oregon state police. As Nik Blosser, Brown’s chief of staff and one of the negotiators, pointed out recently, referring to Vice President Pence, “There was at least someone in the administration that knew that this violence needed to come to an end. I’m not sure who is there to negotiate with now.”
Today, in Los Angeles, the courts are similarly engaged in a suit over the administration’s deployment of federal agents to counter protests. So far, however, the outcome is trending very differently. Earlier in the month, a federal judge issued a TRO against the National Guard in that city. In a 46-page ruling, Judge Charles Breyer, the brother of retired Supreme Court justice Stephen Breyer, rejected the government’s characterization of the protests as “a rebellion” and excoriated the president for assuming powers beyond his constitutional and statutory authority. “That’s the difference between a constitutional government and King George” was the way he put it. In addition, Judge Breyer returned the authority to deploy the National Guard to California rather than the federal government.
The administration immediately appealed. As in the Portland case, the appellate court is once again the Ninth Circuit. On June 18th, there was a hearing before a panel of three judges, two of them Trump appointees and one a Biden appointee. Repeatedly, the judges seemed to reject the notion that the law requires the active involvement of the governor in the decision to deploy such troops, appearing to side with the federal government lawyer, who told the judge again and again, “Our position is this is not subject to judicial review.” In other words, the president should have free rein to do as he pleases.
In their ruling, the appellate judges agreed with Trump and not with the state of California, overruling the district court judge and unanimously agreeing that the president had acted lawfully and that his failure to notify the governor before deploying those troops was not grounds for obstructing the president’s order. In other words, he could indeed keep control of the troops in L.A.
In short, the case has taken us another step down the road to the “maximalist” view of executive power. The ruling suggests that last year’s Supreme Court immunity decision, allowing a president to do more or less whatever he wants while in office without fear of retribution, was indeed a game changer. As a reminder, in July 2024, while Trump was running for office a third time, the court ruled that, “under our constitutional structure of separated powers, the nature of Presidential power entitles a former President to absolute immunity from criminal prosecution for actions within his conclusive and preclusive constitutional authority. And he is entitled to at least presumptive immunity from prosecution for all his official acts.” The court then added, “There is no immunity for unofficial acts.”
In the context of recent events in Los Angeles, rather than immunity for criminal activity, it suggests that the Supreme Court might indeed support immunity from legal pushback for acts committed at the state level. And that would, of course, remove yet another of the checks and balances that once underlay the protections against untethered presidential power in the American system of government.
A Genuinely Frightening Moment
How this will play out at the Supreme Court the next time around is anyone’s guess and may turn on the issue of whether that court assesses that there really was a rebellion in Los Angeles — the government’s premise for bringing in federal troops. Nonetheless, this should certainly be considered a frightening moment. After all, that presidential memorandum authorizing the federal deployments to L.A. was in no way limited to California. In fact, there was no geographical specificity to it at all and no specific type of protest named in the memo. It was a blanket authorization for deploying federal troops, based on unspecified acts of violence, disorder, and protests. If California is a sign of the future, it seems ever clearer that the courts have little appetite for standing in the way of this president. In addition, as loyalty to him is the first requisite of government officials, any pushback from within the ranks of his administration seems essentially inconceivable.
So here we are, once again learning that the restraints Americans could rely upon in the past are fast disappearing. And while protests from democratic leaders abound, it’s the courts that, at this moment, hold the power.
It’s tempting to point to the moments in recent times when we should have seen this coming — the growing powers granted to the president in the name of the Global War on Terror, the unchecked ability of the president to repeatedly make acting appointments and fire those in his cabinet who oppose his will, the coopting of members of Congress through threats of primarying them out of office or grants of vast amounts of money should they demonstrate sufficient loyalty to the president.
But as it stands, this is probably not the time to focus on who’s to blame in the past. Instead, it’s time to consider the future and our power to strengthen the fundamentals of our democracy before all is lost. Only if our trust in the law and the courts is restored will we truly be able to turn our thoughts to the mistakes and missed opportunities of what by then would be the painful past.
This is not just about Los Angeles. It is about whether a president can override a state to deploy troops in support of domestic policy. It is about whether dissent is still protected in practice, not just in principle.
The images coming from Los Angeles in June 2025 are not without precedent. But the precedents are not American. They are global, and they are troubling. Military convoys rolling into a city over the objections of its elected leaders. Peaceful protest recast as a public threat. Immigrant communities targeted with sweeping enforcement actions and then blamed for resisting. What unfolded in Los Angeles this summer looked less like the United States of 1992 and more like Beijing in 1989 or Paris under curfew in 1961. These were moments when governments exploited protest as pretext and used the language of order to justify repression. What makes Los Angeles so alarming is not just the imagery of troops on domestic streets, but the quiet dismantling of legal guardrails that once kept that imagery exceptional.
This is not just a story about immigration raids. It is about the redefinition of dissent as rebellion and the deployment of military force to enforce that fiction. For the first time in modern U.S. history, active-duty federal troops were sent into a state not to uphold civil rights or restore public safety, but to enforce domestic policy over the objection of state leaders. There was no invocation of the Insurrection Act. Instead, the Trump administration relied on a lesser-known statute, 10 U.S.C. §12406, and vague assertions of inherent executive power to federalize California’s National Guard and deploy 700 Marines across Los Angeles. Governor Gavin Newsom objected. The Pentagon bypassed him.
For the first time in modern U.S. history, active-duty federal troops were sent into a state not to uphold civil rights or restore public safety, but to enforce domestic policy over the objection of state leaders.
The White House framed the move as necessary to restore order. But there was no large-scale disorder. There were protests, including vigils outside detention centers, marches through working-class neighborhoods, and union leaders acting as legal observers. There were curfew violations and some scattered vandalism. But there was no insurrection. The destabilizing force was not public protest. It was the decision to respond to it with troops.
Defenders of the administration reached quickly for precedent, citing the Rodney King riots in 1992 and the civil rights showdowns of Little Rock and Selma. But these comparisons obscure more than they clarify. In 1992, California’s governor requested help after riots erupted. In 1957 and 1965, Presidents Eisenhower and Johnson used the military to enforce federal court orders and protect constitutional rights that states had refused to uphold. In all of those cases, the goal was the expansion of rights. In Los Angeles in 2025, troops were sent not to defend civil liberties but to suppress protest against their erosion.
If the domestic record fails to explain this moment, the international one does. In Beijing in 1989, peaceful student demonstrators were labeled counterrevolutionaries. Martial law was declared. Troops rolled in. Thousands were killed or disappeared. In the years since, the Chinese state has denied, distorted, and buried the events of Tiananmen Square. The repression was not only physical. It was historical. Dissent itself was erased.
In Paris in 1961, Algerian immigrants marched peacefully against a discriminatory curfew. Police responded with overwhelming violence. More than a hundred were killed, many beaten and dumped into the Seine. The government minimized the incident for decades, calling it a minor clash. Only in recent years has the truth surfaced, slowly and incompletely, with no accountability.
In Myanmar in 2017, a stateless Muslim minority, the Rohingya, was framed as a terrorist threat after a small-scale insurgent attack. The state launched what it called a clearance campaign. Entire villages were destroyed. More than 700,000 people were forced into exile. The military denied responsibility and described the operation as a legitimate anti-terror response. The world called it ethnic cleansing. The government called it counterinsurgency.
What these cases share is a structure. A marginalized population asserts its presence, through protest, through migration, through visibility. The state reframes that assertion as rebellion. Force follows. Then comes denial or strategic ambiguity, and often historical erasure. Violence becomes policy. Policy becomes precedent.
What happened in Los Angeles has not reached that level of brutality. But the logic is already in place. Peaceful resistance was framed as a rebellion. The deployment of troops was not a last resort. It was a political maneuver. The administration used the machinery of national defense to discipline domestic opposition, and to do so under legal theories that dissolve long-held constraints on federal power.
Critics may call this comparison alarmist. They argue that America is not China, not Myanmar, not an authoritarian regime. We have elections, courts, and a free press. But the danger is not that the United States has already crossed the threshold into authoritarianism. It is that we are normalizing the tools that allow such a shift to happen incrementally and under cover of law.
Authoritarianism does not begin with the mass suspension of rights. It begins with the narrowing of who those rights apply to. It begins with the quiet reclassification of dissent as danger. It begins with language: radicals, illegals, rebels. It begins with the claim that protest is disorder, and that order must be restored by force if necessary. And it gains ground not only through coercion, but through public fatigue. If the streets are quiet, if the media coverage fades, if the courts stall, the logic settles into the baseline of governance.
That is why this moment matters. The deployment in Los Angeles is not just provocative. It is precedent-setting. It redefines the legal thresholds for domestic military use. It challenges the role of states in checking federal authority. And it reframes protest against government action not as a civic right, but as a federal security risk.
We have seen, around the world, how easily protest can be recast as provocation. How immigrants, minorities, and political dissidents can be treated not as citizens, but as threats. How democratic states can adopt authoritarian tools, first in exceptional cases, then in ordinary ones.
We are not there yet. But we are closer than we think.
This is not just about Los Angeles. It is about whether a president can override a state to deploy troops in support of domestic policy. It is about whether dissent is still protected in practice, not just in principle. It is about whether the line between order and oppression has already begun to blur, and whether we will recognize it in time.
This is a critical moment in U.S. history, and it demands that we stand strong in our opposition to the administration’s reckless and unlawful use of military force.
For years, we have warned against the danger of an unchecked president turning the military against American civilians.
In an extraordinary show of force, President Trump has federalized 4,000 members of the California National Guard and deployed 300 of them, in addition to deploying 700 Marines, to quell protests in the Los Angeles area. All over the objections of Gov. Gavin Newsom.
Why this abrupt, camera-ready escalation? White House Deputy Chief of Staff Stephen Miller posted a video of a peaceful protest parade. “If we don’t fix this, we don’t have a country,” he shuddered. “Pass the BBB” — the budget bill now facing turbulence in Congress.
Trump’s administration is spoiling for a fight. It pops out emergency declarations like a Pez dispenser. It is also relying on flimsy legal justifications, as my colleagues have pointed out.
Presidents have deployed troops to control civil unrest only 30 times before in U.S. history. The Posse Comitatus Act generally prohibits federal troops from engaging in civilian law enforcement. Soldiers are trained to defeat an enemy, not to de-escalate protests.
The situation in Los Angeles is bad. What might come next could be worse.
The last time that a president sent in the Guard without a clear request from a state’s governor was 1965, when troops were used to protect the voting rights march from Selma to Montgomery. (And even in that case, George Wallace waffled.)
To be clear, violent protests are not acceptable or productive. The federal government should be unobstructed in carrying out its lawful duties. Of course, the specter of masked ICE agents lurking in the lobbies of immigration courts, as has happened here in New York City, is itself willfully provocative.
In fact, in Los Angeles, protests have been overwhelmingly peaceful. The LAPD — hardly a department of pushovers — has been adamant that it has the situation under control. Not surprisingly, the troops have only fanned the protests. Newsom formally requested that the administration rescind the deployment, saying that it is “inflaming tensions while pulling resources from where they’re actually needed.”
The situation in Los Angeles is bad. What might come next could be worse.
Trump’s executive order authorizes deployment of the Guard “at locations where protests against [ICE] functions are occurring or are likely to occur.” Where might that be? “We’re gonna have troops everywhere,” Trump declared.
As my colleague Elizabeth Goitein notes, “No president has ever federalized the National Guard for purposes of responding to potential future civil unrest anywhere in the country. Preemptive deployment is literally the opposite of deployment as a last resort. It would be a shocking abuse of power and the law.”
The most powerful repressive tool would be the Insurrection Act — a law that lets presidents deploy troops to suppress a rebellion or insurrection or curb domestic violence in extreme scenarios. Trump threatened to invoke it against Democratic-run cities during his 2024 campaign.
The Insurrection Act is, unfortunately, a mess of a law. Key words such as “rebellion” and “insurrection” are left undefined. Courts have given presidents a wide berth. Trump winked at this law by calling the protesters “insurrectionists.”
He has so far chosen to rely on a different law — one that has never been used to quell civil unrest without an accompanying Insurrection Act invocation. The administration claims that it is invoking this law only to protect federal personnel and property. But Homeland Security Secretary Kristi Noem has requested that soldiers be authorized to detain and search protesters, functions normally prohibited by the Posse Comitatus Act.
It’s clear that Trump wants to use this showdown to expand enforcement powers.
The week before he stages a strongman-style military parade along the National Mall — complete with tanks, missiles, and military aircraft — Trump has claimed the right to preemptively authorize deployment of the military all across America.
That should be chilling to most Americans, who have enjoyed a firm line between police and the military as an essential component of our democracy. The deployment of the military against civilians should only be used in the most extreme cases as a last resort. Otherwise, as Elizabeth Goitein notes, “an army turned inward can quickly become an instrument of tyranny.”
Experts have already identified worst-case scenarios. George W. Bush administration official David Frum has sounded the alarm on the possibility of Trump using the military to influence the 2026 election.
If you want to learn more about all of this, here are reports we’ve published in the last few years on emergency powers, the Insurrection Act, the Posse Comitatus Act, the Alien Enemies Act, and martial law.
Once again, in the face of a lawless executive, the courts must now step up. The Supreme Court may want to avoid a conflict, but here, it may have no choice. It is imperative that it uphold checks against the use of military force against civilians.
And now that we know that the existing laws can be used, however tendentiously, to justify provocative military action, we must fix those laws so they cannot be abused again.
The Brennan Center has proposed reforms to the Insurrection Act, including defining the law’s critical terms and enforcing more checks on its use. We have also proposed reforms to strengthen the Posse Comitatus Act. Americans must be adamant, too, that even under existing statutes, presidents lack the power to declare martial law.
This is a critical moment in U.S. history, and it demands that we stand strong in our opposition to the administration’s reckless and unlawful use of military force, in Los Angeles and across the country.