In a dramatic escalation of domestic immigration policy, President Trump ordered federalized National Guard troops into Los Angeles over the weekend, declaring that protests against recent deportation raids threatened to become a “rebellion” against U.S. authority. The White House insisted that local officials had lost control of the streets and framed the deployments as necessary to protect federal officers. Still, California’s leaders uniformly denounced the move as illegal and provocative. Governor Gavin Newsom immediately asked the administration to “rescind its unlawful deployment of troops in Los Angeles County” and return the Guard to state command, arguing that only California’s governor has the authority to call up and use the state Guard. Mayor Karen Bass likewise accused the Trump administration of “needlessly” stirring chaos in the city, saying the White House was “completely unnecessarily” creating a crisis by sending troops where they were not wanted. This move by the President has the potential to lead to significant social and political fallout.
The Trump administration justified the action by invoking Title 10 of the United States Code, citing an urgent law enforcement crisis. In a June 7 executive order, Mr. Trump cited 10 U.S.C. §12406, a Cold War‐era provision that permits the President to call the Guard into federal service if “the United States is invaded, or there is a rebellion or danger of rebellion” or if ordinary law enforcement is deemed insufficient. The order stated that deployed Guardsmen would “temporarily protect ICE and other United States Government personnel who are performing Federal functions, including the enforcement of Federal law, and protect Federal property,” at sites where protests against those operations were occurring. This rationale recalls President Trump’s longstanding border-security narrative: at his January 2025 inauguration he proclaimed that the southern border was “overrun by cartels, criminal gangs, known terrorists … and illicit narcotics,” language he has repeatedly used to justify extraordinary measures. Indeed, within weeks of taking office, he signed multiple orders and memos (with alarming titles like “Military Mission for Sealing the Southern Border and Repelling Invasions”) claiming vast powers to support immigration enforcement. Trump’s hardline framing that protesting immigration raids is tantamount to a violent insurrection, underpins his justification for sending troops to Los Angeles.
California’s officials and legal experts immediately pointed out that Trump’s actions run head-on into the U.S. Constitution’s federalism framework and statutory limits on the deployment of domestic troops. Crucially, when the President called up California’s National Guard, he invoked a Title 10 mobilization, which by definition federalizes the Guard and places it under the President’s control, a status to which the federal Posse Comitatus Act applies. The 1878 Posse Comitatus Act strictly prohibits U.S. Army and Air Force forces (and by extension federalized Guardsmen) from executing civilian law without specific authorization. By its terms, Section 12406 does not waive Posse Comitatus; it merely permits the Guard in federal service to safeguard federal officers and property. As Reuters noted, federal troops under the cited statute “cannot arrest protesters, but they could protect U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) agents who are making arrests.” In short, the legal text allows troops to act as bodyguards for federal agents, not as general police on the streets. Moreover, even Title 10 itself requires that orders to mobilize the Guard “shall be issued through the governors of the States.” The White House has provided no such order from Governor Newsom, raising questions about whether Trump has overstepped his legal authority.
The Guard's status further highlights the federal-state split prior to the order. Typically, California Guard units would operate under Title 32 (state) status, remaining under Governor Newsom’s control. In Title 32 status, the Guard can aid civilian authorities under state law and is explicitly exempt from Posse Comitatus restrictions. That is why Newsom has argued that he is happy to deploy the California Guard for legitimate purposes, but only under state law and under his command. Trump’s move effectively stripped the California Guard of its Title 32 designation and placed it under the federal chain of command, bound by 10 U.S.C. and the Posse Act. Constitutional law also reserves “police power” to the states, and legal scholars note that, usually, “the military should not be policing civilians,” a principle embedded in the Posse Comitatus Act.
The only domestic deployments that automatically waive Posse Comitatus are those made under explicit exceptions, most notably the Insurrection Act of 1807 (10 U.S.C. §§ 331–335), none of which were formally invoked here in the usual way. Thus, critics argue, the White House may be attempting to have it both ways: utilizing military manpower for a policing mission while circumventing the standard procedures of the Insurrection Act.
This isn’t the first time the U.S. has deployed troops to Los Angeles under such circumstances, and the parallels with history have not gone unnoticed. The last invocation of broad federal military aid in L.A. was in 1992 after the Rodney King beating verdict triggered city-wide riots. In that crisis, Mayor Tom Bradley and Governor Pete Wilson formally requested aid. President George H.W. Bush did invoke the Insurrection Act via Executive Order 12804. Bush federalized the California Guard and mobilized roughly 4,000 Army and Marine troops and over 1,000 federal law-enforcement officers (U.S. Marshals, Customs, etc.) as part of “Operation Garden Plot,” and a Joint Task Force–LA. Those forces helped restore order, along with tens of thousands of state Guardsmen under Wilson’s direction. Still, the campaign was later criticized for poor coordination and confusion. A Pentagon after-action report and contemporaneous analyses cited “inefficiencies, communication issues, and lack of proper training” that hampered the mission. In other words, even a more traditional federal intervention in L.A. generated controversy about mixed chains of command and excessive use of force.
In New Orleans, following Hurricane Katrina, the interplay between state and federal governments over troop deployment proved contentious. Within days of the storm, approximately 54,000 National Guard soldiers and 20,000 active-duty troops descended on the Gulf Coast. Still, initially under state governors’ control and disaster relief authorities, not as a domestic policing deployment. The Bush administration did propose consolidating command by naming Lt. Gen. Russel Honoré a dual-status commander over all forces. Still, Louisiana Governor Kathleen Blanco flatly rejected any plan to federalize her Guard, insisting she retains control. (Mississippi’s Republican Gov. Haley Barbour made a similar stand). Congress even briefly passed a 2007 NDAA provision giving the President unilateral power to federalize domestic forces in emergencies. Still, backlash from the National Guard and state governments led to its repeal in 2008. During Katrina, the Posse Comitatus Act was effectively no obstacle to rescue and logistics efforts, as all deployments were focused on disaster relief; however, Katrina sparked heated debate. Pentagon officials at the time labeled the centuries-old law “very archaic.” Yet, commentators warned that broadening military police powers could endanger civil liberties. Afterward, even some conservatives acknowledged that the Guard’s state-based control was essentially the correct model for domestic emergencies. Lawmakers retreated from efforts to dilute those legal barriers.
The immediate public and political reactions to President Trump’s deployment also echo those past episodes. In 1992, after four days of intense rioting, most Angelenos and the media cheered Bush’s decisive action to restore order (even as others later lamented the violence and racial tensions it reflected). In 2005, frustration over delayed and botched relief initially turned public anger toward the administration, and after a while, the military mission (once underway) was treated as pragmatic if grimly necessary. Today’s situation is different: the “enemy” is not a natural disaster or seething race riot but migrants and demonstrators, and critics of the Trump move are framing it as a gross abuse of power. Civil rights organizations like the ACLU have warned that invoking the Insurrection Act or related powers to round up immigrant families would be “unprecedented, unnecessary, and wrong.” Even some conservative commentators have cautioned that the Posse Comitatus restrictions still apply to actual law enforcement and that the military was never intended to police American streets on political grounds.
If history is any guide, the long-term fallout could be considerable. Mayor Bass warned that the deployment risked “creating chaos.” Indeed, images of armed guards at civic buildings, reminiscent of an occupying force, are likely to inflame tensions in the city. Latino community leaders and immigrant rights groups have already denounced the operation, with one organizer accusing the administration of “trumping up an excuse to abuse power” and deliberately provoking clashes around immigration. On the legal front, California officials may pursue court challenges based on the governors’ powers and the constitutionality of the orders, potentially forcing a federal judge to scrutinize whether this truly qualified as an “insurrection” justifying military action. International reaction has also been harsh: Mexico’s President Claudia Sheinbaum publicly condemned the raids and deployment, saying that the immigration issue “will not be addressed with raids or violence.” In Washington, some moderate Republicans have quietly expressed concern about the precedent, noting that military incursions into peaceful American cities are fraught with danger.
In the coming weeks, this episode is likely to resonate far beyond Los Angeles. Politically, it appears aimed at energizing Mr. Trump’s base by projecting a tough-on-crime image, but it risks galvanizing the opposition and deepening ethnic and partisan divides. Legally, it could prompt renewed calls in Congress to clarify or constrain the President’s emergency powers, much as Katrina once prompted legislation and as presidential candidates from both parties have proposed after earlier incidents. Socially, the visible presence of troops at protests and immigrant neighborhoods may erode trust in law enforcement and provoke larger demonstrations, a pattern seen whenever the federal government takes heavy-handed action on immigration. Whatever Trump’s intent, modern American democracy has not seen a president so brazenly use the military for domestic political goals in peacetime, and scholars warn that history will judge this “military mission” as dangerously political. In the tradition of a free press and constitutional order, it now falls to elected officials, judges, and the American people to check this unprecedented use of force and to ensure that the nation’s laws, not political whims, determine when guns are turned on our citizens.
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