Magic Johnson, where are you?

Your city is under attack. Your people are under attack. Maybe you might try ... oh, speaking up for Southern California?

Magic Johnson is, in many ways, the face of Los Angeles and Southern California. He arrived here in 1979 after the Lakers used the No. 1 pick in the NBA Draft to select the 6-foot-9 guard out of Michigan State. He wound up an icon. First, as a player. Then, as a businessman. Magic boasted the smile, the passion, the empathy, the talent. He was the whole package, and the region fell in love with him.

And, as the face of Los Angeles and Southern California, Magic Johnson keeps a very high profile and a very active Instagram feed. Here, take a gander …

And I’m just sorta wondering, as ICE agents terrorize the city and Donald Trump and Stephen Miller and Tom Homan make us all feel like foreigners in our own country … well … eh, where in God’s name is Magic Johnson? Or, really, where in God’s name is Magic Johnson’s voice?

When the Lakers aren’t playing well, Magic is never afraid to chime in. When there’s a terrific new restaurant opening in town, Magic is there to sing its praises. When Magic has something to sell, Magic sells. When Magic wants to promote, nobody is better. Magic Johnson will talk and talk and talk and smile and smile and smile and make sure you know precisely how he’s feeling about Dalton Knecht’s jumper, about the Rock Shrimp Tempura with Creamy Spicy Sauce at Nobu, about the beautiful weather.

So, where the hell is he?

Where is his voice?

I’m genuinely fascinated, and equally horrified. As someone who has written extensively about the Lakers, I am well-educated in Magic’s genuine love for Southern California. Upon first arriving here to negotiate with the franchise, he had the car stop so he could pluck an orange from a tree. “They grow fruit,” he said in splendid wonder. “They grow fruit!” From that moment, Magic’s name and smile became intertwined with everything Los Angeles represents. It’s been a gorgeous marriage of good man and lovely place.

So, again, I ask—where the hell is he? Where is his voice?

For that matter, where is Jeanie Buss, Lakers owner and a lifelong Los Angeles booster? Where is Steve Ballmer, Clippers owner and a guy who makes SoCal his home? Hell, where are Dr. Dre and Snoop Dogg and Ice Cube? Why are none of you not making statements on behalf of your city’s independence from federal raids? Why are you not showing up at rallies? Standing with the people? If there’s one thing we know about Führer Trump, it’s that he seeks out the love, praise and approval of celebrities. See Kanye West. See Kid Rock. See Saquon Barkley. Trump’s pathetic need to be adored by the neoned named is both ugly and predictable and speaks to a painfully fragile sense of self worth.

Alas, we seem to be living in an age when fear has conquered fight, and a person’s Q rating and profit margin is far more important than the virtue of steadfast righteousness. So Magic—worth hundreds of millions—zips it. Buss and Ballmer—rolling in dough and fearing government retribution—lay low. Dr. Dre and Ice Cube—former N.W.A big guns and the creators of “Fuck Tha Police,” for Christ’s sakes—hide in their mansions, watching this 24/7 shit-show unfold from behind the comfort of large-screen TVs. Snoop, as big a disappointment as I’ve seen, smokes his weed.

It is, collectively, weak and feeble and a slap in the face of the 23.7 million of us who live in Southern California.

Question: Where is Magic Johnson?

Answer: He’s hiding in plain sight as his city turns police state.

PS: A disabled Army veteran was grabbed by ICE agents, maced and taken away this week. He’s a U.S. citizen—and no one knows where he is. Anyone wanna speak up about this? Anyone?