THEY CAN’T IGNORE WHAT THEY CAN’T ESCAPE
ICE depends on silence. It doesn’t want your attention — it wants your forgetfulness. Raids happen before dawn, press releases are sterile, and detainees vanish quietly, like clerical errors that just happen to have families. That’s how the machine survives: bureaucratic violence, administered quietly enough for no one to lose their brunch appetite. But silence is a strategy — and volume is the antidote.
Music is protest in its most elemental form. It doesn’t ask permission. It doesn’t rely on crowds, or permits, or even language. It just arrives, gets inside you, and stays. That’s why sound — from full-blown DJ rigs to the scratchy voice of a crying child playing from a car stereo — might be the most powerful underused weapon we have in the fight against ICE.
WHY MUSIC WORKS WHEN EVERYTHING ELSE GETS DROWNED OUT
You can scroll past a petition. You can skip a video. But you can’t unhear something that shakes the sidewalk. Music doesn’t argue — it bypasses your logic and drags you straight into feeling. A playlist blaring in a wealthy neighborhood hits harder than any picket sign because it violates the comfort the system is built to protect. And when that music carries stories — of children calling for parents, of songs from the countries ICE tries to erase, of rage and joy braided together — it becomes impossible to ignore.
Unlike traditional protest tactics, sound is flexible. It doesn’t need mass mobilization. One person can do it. Ten people can do it louder. A hundred can turn a city into a speaker box of resistance. And ICE, for all its drones and databases, can’t file a form to stop a bassline. That’s the advantage.
HISTORY BACKS YOU UP — SOUND HAS ALWAYS BEEN A WEAPON
This isn’t a new idea. In Latin America, the cacerolazo turned pots and pans into percussion grenades. Citizens of Chile, Argentina, and Venezuela made noise from balconies and sidewalks to protest dictatorships, austerity, and disappearances — and the sound became synonymous with resistance itself. In Portland in 2020, protesters used speaker walls and mobile sound to throw off riot cops and drown out orders. In Berlin, DJ-led raves near the Wall helped erode fear and turn public space into protest space. Even the trucker protests in Ottawa — politically grotesque, but tactically instructive — showed how noise alone could shut down a capital city.
And immigrant justice organizers are already using this. In New York, mobile sound trucks have cruised through neighborhoods playing recorded ICE raid audio and immigrant testimony. No confrontation, no permit — just truth at maximum volume. These aren’t hypotheticals. They’re proof that noise works.
YES — YOU CAN DO THIS. EVEN ALONE.
If you’ve got a speaker and a heart that hasn’t fully calcified, you’ve got what it takes. One car parked outside an ICE field office or courthouse, windows down, music up, playing immigrant voices or protest tracks, becomes a statement that no bureaucrat can ignore. Walk through a public park with a playlist called Volume of the Vanished on loop, and let every passerby remember that this country still cages people for paperwork.
And if you’ve got friends? Organize a drive-by sound protest. Circle neighborhoods where people vote blue but look away. Roll through university campuses. Loop the same playlist. Don’t ask for attention — take it. Protesters with no budget can do this with phones and Bluetooth speakers. With a little money, you can build a portable sound rig that turns sidewalks into subwoofers. If you’re fully resourced, rent a van, load it with speakers, and make ICE the one having trouble sleeping at night.
HOW TO STAY LOUD AND LEGAL
This is the part they don’t want you to know: most of this is completely legal. Noise ordinances vary by city, but daytime music at moderate levels — even if politically uncomfortable — is protected speech. Public sidewalks, streets, and parks are yours to use. As long as you’re not impersonating law enforcement, staging fake emergencies, or violating private property rules, you're on solid ground.
If you’re parked legally, not blocking traffic, and within decibel limits, you can play protest music from your car as loud as the law allows. You can walk with a speaker on your back. You can protest ICE with the same legal protections as a guy busking with a guitar. That’s the beauty of it: they can’t stop you unless you break something. And the only thing you’re breaking is their illusion of peace.
THE RIGHT SOUND CAN BREAK THROUGH THE LIES
What does protest music sound like in this moment? It might be a corrido about a family crossing the border. A reggaeton beat distorted by ICE radio static. The voice of a six-year-old recorded inside a detention facility. The haunting stillness of silence after a song about survival. The rhythm of refusal. The melody of rage.
Sound doesn’t need to convince anyone. It needs to haunt them. It needs to make people stop chewing and realize they live in a country where children disappear and no one knocks twice. That’s what music can do. That’s what a protest playlist becomes: memory, testimony, and confrontation.
WHAT YOU CAN DO RIGHT NOW
You don’t have to organize a march. You don’t have to join a group. You don’t have to be fluent in activism. You can download a playlist and press play at the right time. You can sit outside an ICE building, or a government office, or a restaurant full of people who don’t want to hear it — and make them hear it anyway. You can sync up with others online and create a national sound strike where music floods the streets every Friday at noon. You can make disruption into ritual.
You can use music to shake the walls of a courtroom. To turn a city block into a stage. To fill a subway car with truth. You can do it alone, and it matters. You can do it with ten people, and it spreads. You can do it with a hundred, and it becomes impossible to ignore. You don’t need an organization. You need a speaker and a refusal to stay quiet.
WHY IT MATTERS NOW MORE THAN EVER
ICE doesn’t fear marches. ICE fears attention. It fears stories. It fears amplification. The louder we get, the harder it becomes for them to operate in the shadows. And in a moment where laws are being rewritten to criminalize protest, criminalize asylum, criminalize being alive in the wrong ZIP code — sound might be our last legal sanctuary.
So make it count. Blast the playlist. Share the stories. Turn up the volume in every space that thought it could stay neutral. Remind them that silence is complicity, and music is defiance. Remind them that people are still disappearing — and the beat is still going.
BECAUSE ICE IS COUNTING ON YOU TO STAY QUIET.
And it only takes one person, one speaker, one song, to prove them wrong.
This post has been syndicated from Closer to the Edge, where it was published under this address.