Los Angeles was once the city of dreams and stars. Today, it makes headlines with burning asphalt, helicopters cloaking the sky and violent scenes going viral on social media. People marching in the streets are not just protesting; they are also struggling to be seen and recorded. Digital cameras, drones and police surveillance systems now set the daily rhythm of this city. The interventions sparked by the protests are no longer taking place solely in physical space – they are also unfolding in an information war governed by algorithms.
What has happened in Los Angeles in recent days is not merely a matter of public order; it is an alarm about the future of public space itself. On June 6-7, more than 1,000 protesters clashed with National Guard and federal forces, and at least 253 people were detained, according to the Associated Press (AP). The images circulating on social media – a horse-drawn carriage engulfed in flames, shielded units advancing on a tent camp – are drawing a new portrait of the city: violence, surveillance and a fragmented sense of justice. Los Angeles is no longer just burning; it is being watched, controlled and silenced.
Los Angeles is now a city not only of angels, but of algorithms. With facial recognition systems, drone-supported police patrols, social media scans and data-driven security algorithms, the city has turned into a digital labyrinth. Surveillance no longer serves merely to combat crime; it has become a tool of urban domination. The police department’s monitoring of protesters’ locations through their social media posts and its use for preemptive intervention is a striking example. This is not just a matter of technology; it is a battle over truth, justice and visibility.
British American academic David Harvey’s concept of “surplus production” resonates here: the capitalist city constantly generates surplus capital and surplus people, but it also constructs a mechanism that decides where, how, and for whom these surpluses can exist. In Los Angeles, algorithms have become part of that mechanism. Decisions about when a public space is “dangerous,” who is a “criminal” and which neighborhoods are “risky” are no longer made by people, but by datasets. Thus, the city becomes a seemingly orderly yet socioeconomically and racially encoded digital map.
In the shadow of recent events, President Donald Trump’s recent description of Los Angeles as a “trash heap with entire neighborhoods under control of criminals” starkly captures the paradox the city is facing, as reported by The Guardian. By declaring the need to “take all such actions necessary to liberate Los Angeles,” Trump seeks to justify military intervention. This rhetoric fuels the perception of the city as one that has been abandoned, because when care, investment and a sense of security are absent, a city indeed risks becoming a dumping ground. As Harvey indicates, neoliberal urban governance offers two choices: either preserve the commons or surrender the space to decay. Trump’s words bring this dilemma into sharp focus: on one side, the neglect of public space; on the other, the legitimation of surveillance and militarization.
Hollywood was once the heart of dreams and storytelling. Today, it is not only an industry fractured by digital platforms but also a symbolic backdrop to the city’s profound inequality. Just a few blocks from the glittering red carpets, over 75,000 unhoused people struggle to survive. This number reflects not only the scale of the housing crisis, but also raises a deeper question: for whom does Los Angeles still function as a city?
The Washington Post recently reported that unhoused individuals are 27 times more likely than the general population to require emergency medical care during heat waves. In those same areas, perceived temperatures can rise to nearly 50 degrees Celsius (122 degrees Fahrenheit), according to the same report. Without access to water or basic hygiene, these groups exist outside the algorithmically monitored “safe zones.” As Harvey warns, the city draws a sharp line between spaces deemed worthy of investment and those marked for abandonment. This line is felt not just on maps, but on human bodies – in sweat, wounds and exhaustion.
The decline of Hollywood is not merely the crisis of an industry; it is the collapse of an entire urban imagination. When AI-generated scripts collide with the labor of striking writers, a fundamental question emerges: if cities are forms of storytelling, then whose story is Los Angeles telling now? And does that story reflect lived realities, or is it built on erasure and exclusion?
Los Angeles is not only a city under surveillance, militarization and fragmentation; it is also a place where small yet persistent forms of resistance continue to emerge. In the city’s outer neighborhoods, especially among Latina communities, networks of solidarity are being woven through the fabric of everyday life. Lo cotidiano – the sacredness of the everyday – takes on the form of political action here. Women distribute cooling water on the streets, migrant communities share vital information, and some parks are transformed into communal kitchens. These micro-acts quietly whisper that even amid vast collapse, another vision of the city is still possible.
In response to recent U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) operations in Los Angeles, neighborhood-organized “watch groups” have become particularly notable, as reported by the Los Angeles Times. WhatsApp groups are used for real-time alerts against the threat of detention, and safe shelters are established to protect the vulnerable. This is not merely a defensive tactic, it is an ethical mode of existence. David Harvey’s call to “reclaim the city” takes form here: a city is not built by plans alone, but by relationships. Against the map of surveillance, a counter-map of everyday resistance is being drawn.
Los Angeles is burning, not only in its forests, but in its streets, on digital screens, in human relationships and in public memory. The city that Trump called a “trash heap” is, in truth, ignited by years of accumulated social injustice, desires for digital surveillance and spatial neglect. But like any fire, this one does not merely destroy, it also reveals: Who raises their voice, and who is silenced? Who becomes visible, and who is erased?
Perhaps the real question is this: Is this fire merely a sign of collapse? Or could it be the harbinger of a different urban vision, one that is more just, slower and more humane? If we can build our cities not with algorithms but with compassion between people, if we can invest in mercy as much as in infrastructure, then from the ashes of this fire, not only new buildings but new values may arise. In this sense, Los Angeles is not only a city; it is a test.
