Oracle of Ybor: When it comes to ICE raids, the cards tell us to take action

I used to live in Downtown Los Angeles, a block off of skid row in a hotel called The Cecil. I moved in 2010, before any attempt at gentrification, when the majority of my neighbors were homeless, and you could buy a loosey with two quarters from the liquor store on 5th Street. When I told coworkers and friends where I lived, they told me how dangerous my neighborhood was. When I told my neighbors where I lived, they told me how many murders had happened there. People talked as if evil were localized, always somewhere else, somewhere worse.

Warnings of danger come in a binary form. This is the bad part of town, meaning there’s a good part somewhere else. These people cause harm, these protect. This was a place of danger, this of safety. I was warned again about my bad neighborhood when I moved to Austin, warned again when I moved into Ybor City.

I didn’t feel particularly unsafe in any of these areas because I grew up in New Orleans, a city where violence plagues every neighborhood, touches every family. Places might feel safer than others, but nowhere is completely safe—and nowhere is completely dangerous. Most places are filled with people who are looking to just live their lives.

But as I have watched ICE raids escalate for months, watched people get hooded and shoved into vans, as I’ve watched the Trump administration disregard law, legal precedent, constitutional and human rights, as I watched nearly 5,000 military personnel stand around my old neighborhood, on those piss-covered streets, clutching their little weapons of war, as I’ve watched police in dozens of other cities—frightened to death of shouting and shoving—shoot rubber-covered bullets at close range at protesters and journalists, as I’ve watched the gleeful acceptance from my fellow countrymen as if this the natural progression of things, I have felt that there is no safe harbor anywhere anymore.

We are all in danger.

And we must save ourselves. No other help is coming.

I asked three questions this week: what to do about ICE, what the military deployment means, and what can we, as a collective, do to stop an authoritarian takeover?

Regarding ICE, The cards I drew—Temperance, Four of Cups reversed, and Six of Pentacles—offered a more philosophical answer than a practical one.

ICE exists as a reaction from those wallowing in their Four of Cups dissatisfaction. It’s looking for someone to blame and, clouded by emotions, can lead to unfounded anger or sadness—especially if persuaded by someone else.

One of the reasons it’s easy to blame someone else for our problems—or to think a group is dangerous compared to ourselves—is that we naturally sort things into binaries. There is good vs. evil, in vs. out, with us or against us. Temperance is a card that reminds us that to be human is to hold paradoxes, contradictions, and multiple points of view. It is to realize that the so-called enemy that ICE protects us from does not exist.

And then, we have to give—money, time, things of real value. We have to protect those most vulnerable to ICE, free those in custody, we have to hinder ICE and try to dismantle it, and we have to go on a hearts-and-minds campaign for those who believe ICE is protecting them. Like a hydra, one has to both cut off the head and cauterize the wound to stop it from regrowing. It is difficult work but work that must be done.

As for the military deployment, the cards tell us nothing new. Three of Wands, leaving what is known and moving in a new direction. The Hierophant, the embodiment of Institutions. The Emperor reversed, a leader uninterested in diplomacy. Trump is using the military in an unprecedented way to protect the power of the institution and disregarding diplomacy and will continue to do so for more than six months. A shocking revelation, truly.

The final question, what can we do, has both a straightforward and complex answer. The Knight of Pentacles, riding the bronco from hell, knows what needs to be done as does it. It is a card of action—not questioning, not debate, action. Pentacles are the suit of values; we must act in accordance with them on a big-picture level.

The Lovers are a card of unity as well as choice. We have to work collectively but that doesn’t mean we have to follow the same pattern, respect the same old hierarchy. Like a romantic relationship, The Lovers invites us to listen to each other, to understand that our wants and desires might differ, but to see us as one unit, as opposed to two individuals. It is not a time for in-fighting. It is not a time for “us vs. them.” This machine will crush us all—even those operating it—if we let it. We have to put love and action above ego.

And then we have to remember our joy.

The Two of Pentacles is a card of balance, often representing the work-life dichotomy. In this view, the balance of labor is at play. It’s responsibility and fun, seriousness and joy.

Musician Nick Cave wrote that hopefulness is adversarial. It is a warrior emotion, and acts of hope and love and joy are what keeps ‘the devil down in the hole.’ To rejoice in the face of tyranny, to celebrate in the shadow of fear, is to relish in your humanity as a system tries to strip you of it. To live fully and loudly and uncensored is to hold on to your own power, to state that your life is worth fighting for, as another tries to rip it away.

I am not naive. I don’t think dancing is all a revolution needs. But fear cannot stand to be teased. It cannot hold up to mocking, cannot justify itself when shamed. In order of tyranny to work and in order for it to be overthrown, hearts and minds must be won. Cruel tyranny cannot become the logical next step if it has no backing. A little coup will stay a little coup.

The goal, as happy warriors, is to stop the growth of that cruelty, to purge it from the hearts of those already under its sway, to stop it from taking root again. This is done in addition to direct action. This is done in addition of tangible things. This is done with joy and splendor and rage at the coming of the night.

Do not hide your glory. Do not hide your love or hope or courage from yourself. Do not hide your humanity from your own heart. To keep ahold of that is to be a worthy adversary of tyranny.

To keep that is for you to be the dangerous one.

Subscribe to Creative Loafing newsletters.

Follow us: Google News | NewsBreak | Reddit | Instagram | Facebook | BlueSky

This article appears in Jun 12-18, 2025.