By Bear Howard

If ice raids continue the way they started – indiscriminate, militarized, uncomfortably – this could become a new American story: families hiding in the crawl space of the attic, children who are afraid to go to school, neighbors quietly ignore the nation to protect those they love.

The contradictions are barely endured at Sedona’s Red Rock Canyon, known for its energy vortex, yoga retreats and luxury resorts. Behind the tranquility sold to tourists, another reality could entrench it. The people who make the tourism economy possible, such as hotel workers, restaurant staff, housekeepers and caregivers, are beginning to become clear. Not because they left, but because they were taken.

And were they left? Children of US citizens, work visa spouses and asylum seekers are still awaiting hearing. It was legally present, emotionally invested, and suddenly shattered. What may appear in response is a quiet rebellion. Modern underground networks. Not activists, but citizens (retireers, shopkeepers, teachers, and even church groups) provide shelter, food and safety to families under siege.

Like the Dutch family, who risked their lives to hide Jews from the Nazis, Americans now face impossible choices. At the time, Anne Frank wrote a diary under the swinging bookshelf in Amsterdam. Now, somewhere in Phoenix or Des Moines, a nine-year-old girl named Alma whispers her fears to the brilliance of her iPad.

Like the abolitionists before the Civil War, they violated the Fugitive Slave Act by embracing runaway slaves. They are aware of higher laws. This is a law that cherishes life on paper. It’s not a “felony” and the father looks at the future nurse rather than a “burden.”

And, like the Germans of the 1930s, they saw their friends disappear but remain silent in the sunlight, many Americans are being tested by this wave of authoritarian cruelty, covered in legality. Ice attacks are no longer managed. They are militarized. With increasing coordination from local police, drones and facial recognition software, the state has turned its neighborhood into a hunting ground.

And they will inevitably do not only out of compassion. Because here is a brutal truth no one in Washington wants to say it loudly. America needs immigration. Indigenously born populations cannot be supplied in towns like Sedona, where tourism, healthcare and services economies depend on labor. There is a labor shortage in the United States. Demographic crisis. Birth rate below exchange. And we are deporting the people we need to survive.

We are only 4% of the world’s population trying to maintain a lifestyle that consumes 20% of our resources. Without the influx of young, capable and hardworking new residents, people are ready to build lives, raise families and contribute to our economy – we are crumbling from within. Deporting these families does not make America stronger. It makes it weaker, older, and more brittle.

Still, the attack is escalating. A face pressed against the floor in front of the child. There is no warrant. No warning. There is no humanity. The message is clear: legality is more important than life, and fear is a new form of control.

If this continues, in the attics of Sedona, and across the US –Intention I’ll start filling it up. They are not just places to hide. They will be a place of courage. A quiet sanctuary of resistance. The convulsions of people whispering bedtime stories, the rooms don’t know if the next door knock is the last time they hear in this country.

Of course, ironically, many of those forced to hide have built the future of this country. nurse. builder. teacher. Entrepreneur. Deporting them is not an immigration policy. It is the national self-failure.

This is not an exaggeration. It is a natural consequence of a policy where governments divorced from ethics were stripped of empathy. It is not just the fate of immigrant families that is at stake, but the moral foundations of American experiments.

So tourists should come. Have them take a picture of the red rock and buy a candle that promises spiritual awakening. But if we ignore what is happening under those refined surfaces – if the family allows them to hunt, if they say nothing while their children are growing up in fear, we sec something much more sacred than the scenery.

We addict humanity.