During the first week of June, aggressive Immigration and Customs Enforcement raids in and around Los Angeles sparked protests. To quell these protests, President Donald Trump deployed the National Guard and the Marines to the city. The federal escalation seems intentionally frightening; editor at large and founder of The 19th Errin Haines described the situation as a “public and excessive show of force …[as] a means of reinforcing control.” As the situation continues, we can anticipate further conflicts over control of the military and other shocking acts like the aggressive removal and detainment of Sen. Alex Padilla (D-Calif.), who was removed from Homeland Security Secretary Kristi Noem’s press conference on June 12 while peacefully attempting to ask questions.
I live in LA, and I think what is happening in our city is also happening across the country: We are witnessing a conflict between domination and care. Domination is about exercising power over another to terrorize or coerce by violence and fear. Care, on the other hand, is about making sure that everyone’s needs are met and that they can exist with dignity. For Christians, the ethical choice is clear: We must always reject domination and instead be committed to care.
Domination was the goal of the military deployments to LA. It’s a common goal for the Trump administration: His foreign policy is at best a zero-sum game and at worst driven by spite. His “Big Beautiful Bill” immensely increases the budget for immigration enforcement and detention while making enormous cuts to Medicaid and other social care programs. Domination is the default for the Trump administration.
The federalization of the National Guard, deployment of Marines, and removal or detainment of opposition politicians are intended to make a threatening statement. This is one reason why this escalation is being decried as a fascist response. Not only are the administration’s actions likely illegal, but they are intended to terrorize LA, especially its Latino community and protesters.
Domination is a characteristic of abuse and gendered violence. We see the desire for domination in the current Republican Party associating Trump with a disciplinarian father punishing his children. These comments are in line with an authoritarian parenting style popular on the evangelical Christian right.
It isn’t only the military that is operating according to the logic of domination, although the military’s actions in LA serve as an egregious example. The protests in LA began in response to ICE raiding workplaces to find undocumented immigrants. Conducting these raids is part of a broader strategy by ICE to scare migrants into “self-deporting.” The militarized gear and egregious use of masks to hide ICE agents’ identities when conducting these raids creates a climate of fear and domination.
Sadly, while many leaders may try to distinguish between the unnecessary presence of military personnel and necessary “law and order” roles taken up by local law enforcement, the reality is that police also operate from a logic of domination.
While the National Guard and Marines have largely been deployed as a show of force, the police have taken an active role on the ground in violently responding to protesters and the press. Seeing the military, ICE, and police all acting to dominate immigrants and protesters helps us understand the situation clearly: From my perspective, this current authoritarian response to protest is worse than what’s come before and also an escalation of police tactics used when responding to racial justice protests in 2020, or during the Ferguson uprising in 2014, or many, many other examples. In the public sphere, domination looks like authoritarian military and law enforcement responses. In the private sphere, it looks like abuse, authoritarian parenting, and domestic violence.
By contrast, many protesters and institutions in LA are operating out of a politics of care. Protests arose out of everyday LA residents attempting to defend their neighbors from terrifying immigration raids. As The New Republic’s Melissa Gira Grant points out, while the Los Angeles Police Department appears to have cooperated with ICE in the face of protesters, regular people came together to protect their communities. Similarly, Los Angeles Unified School District has operated out of a politics of care by steadfastly refusing to allow immigration actions on their campuses.
The work of abolitionists Kelly Hayes and Mariame Kaba have influenced my own ethic of care, specifically as it relates to what they call “reciprocal care.” Care is the antithesis of domination because it affirms the value and equal dignity of the other, and enacts that belief in real and concrete ways. Care binds us to one another while domination enforces hierarchical lines of division.
Jesus exemplified this type of care, which is evident in all his healings and especially his recognition of the dignity of the Samaritan woman at the well (John 4). Beyond that, his entire ministry, death, and resurrection was aimed at overcoming what the theologian Walter Wink called the “domination system.” Jesus’ politics are a politics of care, which stands in stark contrast to the United States’ current politics of domination.
The language of care and domination reminds us to reject all dominating institutions, even the ones that might not seem “as violent” as the military or ICE. It also gives us a better way to talk about protests.
There has been lots of discussion about “violent” versus “nonviolent” protests since the protests in LA began. Oftentimes, I think what is characterized as violent protest is, in fact, primarily disruptive protest. But disruptive protest is not inherently violent if it does not seek to establish domination over another person, even if it engages in acts that may be illegal or destructive, such as blocking roads or damaging property.
Protesters should not commit violence against other people. But the key distinction at stake is not between violence and nonviolence but between domination and care. A commitment to care and a complete rejection of domination is what characterizes Christian witness.
Care looks like the Angelenos spontaneously protecting immigrants by interfering with ICE raids. Care looks like schools’ committing to protect their students. In the context of immigration, care welcomes the stranger and protects the neighbor in a way that treats them with dignity as people worthy of respect.
My work with the Episcopal Migration Caucus has recently taught me about Migration with Dignity, a framework taken from the environmental justice movement that has now been adopted as the official framework for migration ministry in the Episcopal Church. Migration with Dignity is a politics of care. It posits that all people have the right to move, but they also have other rights: the right to security from violent domination; the right to equality and basic needs for quality of life such as food, healthcare, education, and legal representation; and the right to maintain one’s language and civil and political identity, as well as family or ethnic ties. Taken together, these are concrete examples of what care looks like. Care meets the needs of the other, seeing them as a whole person.
Last week, before LA became a flashpoint of domination, I watched from afar as friends traveled between immigration detention centers on a Migration With Dignity pilgrimage. At each site, they prayed and witnessed the connections they had with those who were detained by virtue of their common humanity.
The pilgrimage was a practice of care, and care also makes space for enemies. On the pilgrimage, those involved were clear that their prayers and care were for ICE agents, guards, and those working in detention centers as well as migrants imprisoned there. This doesn’t mean assisting or supporting their work in any way but rather recognizing that the work that ICE agents do causes them moral injury. These people deserve to have their needs met, and to receive invitations to participate in non-punitive accountability and healing. Care is something we offer to all.
Beyond the frameworks of “welcome” or “agreement,” care shows us how we love our enemies even when we must oppose them. We want everyone to have their needs met. We don’t have to make space for domination, but we can care for others even when we don’t like them. Care meets the needs of enemies even when we cannot give them affection or countenance agreement.
Domination has no place in the reign of God. Care can transform the world. What Christians must do is utterly reject the logic of domination and recommit to care. Care welcomes the stranger. Care protects the neighbor, even at risk to oneself. Care provides for the enemy. Care is the opposite of domination.
We see the choice clearly in the events occurring in LA. ICE raids, police violence, and military deployments to our cities are part of the politics of domination. But we are called to practice the politics of care, which requires risky, embodied acts of support, protection, and protest to meet the needs of all our neighbors to live alongside us with dignity.
Hannah Bowman is a graduate student in religious studies at Mount Saint Mary's University, Los Angeles, a literary agent, and the founder and director of Christians for the Abolition of Prisons, where she writes and teaches on the Christian theology supporting abolition. You can follow her on Twitter @hannahnpbowman.
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