- “We cannot have masked men terrorizing our communities without identifying themselves.” – Governor Gavin Newsom
- “The fact that DHS responded with tear gas and by throwing protesters on the pavement tells you everything you need to know – this isn’t about safety. This is about fear, control, and the Trump administration’s attempt to intimidate Illinoisans into silence. We will never be silent.” – Illinois Lt. Gov. Juliana Stratton
Governor Gavin Newsom’s signing of a bill banning masked law enforcement in California could not have come at a more telling moment. Even as he put pen to paper in Los Angeles, masked federal agents in Chicago were dragging protesters to the ground, firing tear gas and pepper balls, and dispersing crowds who had gathered to speak out against President Donald Trump’s latest deportation blitz.
The contrast between California’s move to protect transparency and accountability in policing, and the scenes of chaos outside a federal immigration facility in suburban Chicago illustrated perfectly the issue that led to California’s action.
Newsom was characteristically blunt in his assessment.
“America should never be a country where masked ‘secret police’ grab people off the streets and throw them into unmarked vans and speed away,” he said. In his signing statement, he added: “We cannot have masked men terrorizing our communities without identifying themselves.”
At a time when the federal government is escalating immigration raids with an intensity unseen in decades, California is taking a stand to ensure that state and local officers cannot hide their identities while exercising state power.
The law won’t end the Trump administration’s militarized tactics even in California, but it draws a line in the sand about what kind of law enforcement Californians are willing to tolerate.
The events in Chicago on Friday show exactly why such a line is needed.
Protesters gathered outside the Broadview Immigration and Customs Enforcement facility to resist “Operation Midway Blitz,” an aggressive enforcement surge that has netted nearly 550 arrests in the Chicago area in less than two weeks, according to the Department of Homeland Security.
Demonstrators carried flags and handmade signs, chanting and praying in front of the building, which has become a hub of detentions. Its windows are boarded, razor wire lines the perimeter, and it has the look of a fortress in a residential suburb.
It did not take long before masked federal agents in camouflage, riot gear, and gas masks turned that peaceful protest into a confrontation. Tear gas and pepper balls were fired into the crowd. Protesters were shoved, dragged, and arrested. Videos showed white smoke hanging over Broadview as demonstrators scattered and armed agents advanced.
Kat Abughazaleh, a Democratic candidate for Illinois’s Ninth Congressional District, was among those targeted. “I wasn’t surprised, and that’s part of why we’re here,” she said after being thrown to the ground by federal agents. “Everyone here is at least a little bit scared, but mostly, I’m angry, and we need to get the facility shut down.”
Abughazaleh later described the federal response as a “violent abuse of power,” while acknowledging that what she experienced paled in comparison to what immigrant communities endure daily inside the facility.
Masked law enforcement is not only an intimidation tactic directed at protesters — it is also a symbol of what is happening behind closed doors. When agents conceal their identities, accountability disappears. How can someone file a complaint, seek legal redress, or even describe what happened to them if the officers involved are faceless and nameless?
Illinois Lt. Gov. Juliana Stratton, herself on the front lines of these demonstrations, put it bluntly.
“The fact that DHS responded with tear gas and by throwing protesters on the pavement tells you everything you need to know — this isn’t about safety. This is about fear, control, and the Trump administration’s attempt to intimidate Illinoisans into silence. We will never be silent.”
Bushra Amiwala, another candidate in the Ninth District, echoed that outrage. “There was no justification for using such violence against peaceful demonstrators. What happened in Broadview today is an affront to our democracy,” she said.
Federal officials see it differently. ICE called the protesters “rioters” and accused them of siding with cartels and violent criminals. DHS reposted video of the clashes with the caption: “Individuals and groups impeding ICE operations are siding with vicious cartels, human traffickers, and violent criminals.”
By branding peaceful demonstrators as allies of criminals, the Trump administration justifies the deployment of militarized force against ordinary citizens.
By masking agents, it makes them faceless instruments of state power rather than accountable public servants.
And by hiding their names, it makes redress and accountability impossible.
California’s ban matters because it recognizes this tactic for what it is: a strategy of fear and a continued evolution towards a police state.
In Chicago, that fear was visceral. Evanston Mayor Daniel Biss described struggling to breathe after tear gas was deployed.
“At first, I was just feeling determined and grateful because there were so many people standing in solidarity, and at some point it got very scary. When you can’t breathe, fear takes over,” Biss said.
Fear embodies these tactics. People are leaving these protests terrified, their eyes burning, their throats raw, their sense of safety shattered. Families of detainees — like Milagros Pelayo and Yessenia Garcia, who came to the Broadview facility hoping to glimpse their father — are supposed to feel powerless in the face of a militarized federal state.
“We’re a little overwhelmed, a little scared, but we’re still here,” Pelayo said.
Even those who risked arrest to make their voices heard understood the asymmetry.
“It’s a disgusting abuse of power,” protester Lane Faltin said, comparing the experience of tear gas and pepper spray to the much worse reality of detention and deportation.
The stories are wrenching. Tania Ramos, who drove from Indianapolis after her father was trapped by ICE agents posing as scrap-metal customers, spoke through tears as she described his deteriorating health. “He just had back surgery. He has a lung disease, and he also has diabetes and high cholesterol, so he takes a lot of medication every day,” she said. All she wanted was to ensure he was safe and had his medicine.
Against this backdrop, Newsom’s decision to ban masks in California takes on heightened urgency. It is not a symbolic gesture, but a necessary safeguard against a style of law enforcement that thrives on secrecy, intimidation, and fear.
The Trump administration has made clear that it sees force, not accountability, as the way to govern. It has deployed National Guard troops to Los Angeles and Washington, D.C., sent ICE agents in camouflage into immigrant neighborhoods, and dismissed concerns about civil liberties as weakness.
California is not immune. Federal agents can and will operate here as they have in Chicago. But by barring state and local officers from hiding behind masks, Newsom has drawn a line about what kind of government Californians want to live under. Transparency and accountability are not luxuries. They are the foundation of public trust.
When the state strips law enforcement of anonymity, it ensures that officers remain public servants rather than faceless enforcers. When protesters can name who shoved them, who fired tear gas, who made the arrest, they can seek justice. Without that, fear reigns.
The lesson of Chicago is clear. Protesters sang, prayed, and linked arms, only to be met with tear gas, pepper balls, and masked agents dragging them into vans. Families begged for their detained loved ones. Politicians were shoved to the ground. And DHS gloated online.
California’s response is to say: the line is drawn here — this far — no further.
That is why banning masks is not a small thing. It is a declaration that, in California at least, law enforcement will not operate as secret police. And it is a warning to the rest of the country that if the federal government continues down this path, it risks losing not only trust but legitimacy.
Because the truth is simple. A democracy cannot tolerate masked men dragging people into unmarked vans. A free society cannot accept government agents who hide their faces from the public they serve. And a nation that allows such practices will soon cease to be a democracy at all.
Newsom’s law will not stop Trump’s deportation machine, but it offers a counter-narrative. And in moments like this, when federal power is deployed against its own citizens, sometimes telling that story is the most important act of resistance we have.
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From article: “Federal agents can and will operate here as they have in Chicago. But by barring state and local officers from hiding behind masks, Newsom has drawn a line about what kind of government Californians want to live under. Transparency and accountability are not luxuries.”
(In other words, it’s symbolic and will be summarily dismissed by ICE and Trump.)
How do “normal” police officers protect themselves from doxxing?
Seems to me that facial exposure is not the only possible way to identify individual officers, and is probably not even the best way. (I doubt that victims are using “lineups” of ICE agents to identify who attacked them, for example. “Yeah – it was the second guy from the right”.)
Perhaps a large/visible identifying number on uniforms could suffice.
I say if a protestor wears a mask, have a masked officer arrest them.
And vice versa :-|