Why the protests mattered...
...and what we need to remember as we move forward
On Saturday morning, April 5th, Donald Trump was still the President of the United States. He was still surrounded with sycophants and true believers. Congress was still prepared, if not to actively heed his beck and call, then at least to not oppose him in any meaningful way. There were still math-resistant tariffs and fascistic deportations and a cruel gutting of the last remnants of the American welfare state. J.D. Vance, for God’s sake, was still a public figure who demanded some level of our collective attention.
At the end of the day, none of that had changed. Nor did anybody expect it to, at least not instantaneously. That’s not why 100,000 people marched in New York, nor why nearly 2000 rallied in tiny St. Peter, Minnesota, nor why hundreds gathered in Hilo, Hawaii. That’s not why millions of people found one another in over 1400 places across the globe.
We came out— in progressive enclaves and MAGA strongholds, in places where the sun shone brightly and where the weather was lousy— because at times such as this, it feels better to be together than to be alone.
That’s it. That’s why the crowds surged. And that may seem reductive and simple, but I need you to see, for the sake of our love for one another, that it is actually profound.
We came out because we wanted to find each other.
Plaintively. Desperately. Quixotically. And beautifully.
I am using “we” to refer to everybody who rallied on Saturday, even though I’m sure we don’t share a single ideology or identity. What we do share, however, is that we live under a regime that is terrified of what will happen if and when we find each other.
That’s how authoritarianism works. It reassures us with a wink that a few must be sacrificed for the rest of us to find freedom. It asks us to cleave our connections with the college kids that they’re deporting, the dads and sons they’re throwing into a Salvadoran prison, the elders watching their retirement fund vanish in real time, the trans kids who just want to live their life in peace for a second, goddamnit. It hopes that those who it attacks most aggressively believe that nobody gives a damn about us.
It matters that we were out in 1400 places, not merely because it proves that there are people who oppose Trump everywhere, but because it reminds us that there are people being hurt by Trump everywhere. What do Manhattanites and Mississippians have in common? The answer, whispered and shouted in 1400 ways, is just about everything, actually.
All day long, I received these glorious little dispatches. “Look at the crowd in Missoula, Montana,” I heard. “It feels more like a crowd in Denver.” And then, a few minutes later “check out this picture in Denver… now that’s a crowd that stretches for miles.”
It was raining in Cincinnati and sunny in Olympia. The rally was massive in Raleigh but somehow just as large a half hour away in Durham. The crowd was pissed off in Kansas City and defiant in Daytona Beach. There were clowns in Woodstock, Vermont and umbrellas in St. Albans. I heard so many “I’m proud ofs…”
…Billings
…Huntsville
…Tucson
… Hoods River
…Oconomowoc.
I was proud too. Just immensely so. Of all of you, and all of our neighbors. I was proud that, when my daughter and I showed up at the Federal Building in Downtown Milwaukee, the crowd was packed in like sardines. I’ve been to plenty of protests here. Tiny ones. Bigger ones. Even at the largest, though, there was always room to breathe. There was always the sense that we could have squeezed a few more folks in.
But on Saturday, in Milwaukee, it felt like we were filled to bursting. Is that what people mean when they talk about abundance? It must be, because what you have to remember about protests is that they only ever represent a fraction of us. A protest captures the tiny percentage of yearning hearts who didn’t have to work that day and whose bodies enable that variety of action. If a dozen people show up in a space, they represent a community of hundreds. As for hundreds of thousands of people? Or millions? Well just imagine.
We did not prove, on Saturday, that all this energy and anger and hope and love will automatically metastasize into an effective, regime-toppling movement. I am sure that the Gods of war and spite that populate Washington D.C. right now are already dismissing us. I am sure that the coolest and most cynical among us are sneering that it was all just “performative” (why? because nobody punched a cop? because it didn’t conform to some hyper-masculine image of what a revolution looks like? because it was earnest?).
The first step of movement building isn’t about proving anything to the regime in power, though. It’s proving something to ourselves.
On Saturday, what we proved was that none of us are actually alone. And that’s terrific, of course, but it is also terrifying.
If we aren’t alone, then that means that we are connected to each other, which means, in turn, that we have a responsibility to one another.
As I walked through the crowd in Milwaukee and scrolled through pictures from far off cities and towns, I imagined you all, not only coming out to chant down Trump, but showing up if I ever needed your help.
I imagined that, and then I imagined extending the same courtesy back to you.
If we are actually connected, us sign wavers and car horn honkers and rooters-on-from home, if we want more than anything else than to not be alone in this moment, then two things are true.
The first, that I am so grateful for what we proved together on Saturday.
And also, when the worst comes for any of us— economic destitution or state violence or the loss of the program that kept us hanging on— then that will be the true moment to show how connected we are.
It mattered that we came out and protested.It will matter that we continue to protest, that we gum up the works in all sorts of ways. But only if we also take care as we do so.
1300 protests means 1300 places where we can start building.
1300 protests means 1300 places where we are reaching out for one another.
1300 protests means 1300 places full of hope and love but also fear and precarity.
Trump and Musk and their whole gang don’t love your neighbor.
But I trust that we do.
On Saturday, we showed how much we do.
The question that still remains, however, is whether we will.
End notes:
Look at this list of organizational partners who helped pull off Saturday’s actions! Thank you, all of you, who organized locally or nationally for this moment (and who, I know, are still organizing).
Quick housekeeping: As I mentioned in Tuesday’s essay, because of very high demand, I’m offering two more Barnraisers Project “How To Actually Build Community” classes. Thursday, April 24th at 9:30 AM CT and Sunday, April 27th at 3:00 PM CT. Both classes will be free, virtual and two hours long. What’s different between Tuesday and now, though, is that REGISTRATION IS OPEN! As we speak!
Oh and while I’m at it: I say this every issue but it’s still true. I can offer all of this (the trainings, coaching organizers across the world, these essays) for free thanks to a community of supporters who pitch in so that others can benefit. Are you in a position to be one of them? If so, it goes a long way and I can’t thank you enough.
Finally, for now, let’s enjoy one more “Musk and Trump don’t care about you” sticker in the wild. The person who sent it was on their way to the massive protest in Salt Lake City (check out that crowd!) but not before spreading the message to a grocery cart return in Layton, Utah! What a view (both of the Wasatch Range and a place where you can wash your R.V.).
Over 100,000 in Boston, 0 police reports, lovely crowd. Helpful police just like in the McClosky story. PS Each of the ducks in the Make Way for Ducklings statue had their own Hands Off sign.
I was at the St. Paul Capitol and it was spectacular. I was emotional walking up to see so many people (on that note, did you mean 20,000? Because I think that was roughly the estimate. Definitely more than 2,000!). The signs were top notch, the crowd chanting together, the kindness I felt in the air. It was moving. Maybe my favorite moment: two young kids on the ground trying to protect a worm from being stepped on. If that doesn't say at all.