HELL YEAH, I WAS THERE

Some of my liberal cohorts thought I was wasting my time. Others thought I was being reckless. Maybe they're right.

YOU BET I WENT to the “No Kings” protest.

Despite all the sage advice on how to stay below the radar, I’m outing myself. I’m telling you I was there in Bryant Park, right smack in the middle of Manhattan, holding my handmade sign in the drizzling rain on Saturday, June 14.

I would not have missed it, though lots of folks in my friend group sat it out. “I’m getting a facial, then a mani-pedi,” one friend announced when I asked her whether she planned to go to the protest. Another said, “Sorry. Gotta go to Costco!”

I wasn’t surprised by the I-have-better-things-to-do attitude of my liberal cohorts. I sort of expected it. (I have bougie friends, okay?)

But what stunned me was the fear voiced by others in my circle – those who pulled me aside, lowered their voices, and warned me not to go.

“You should be very, very careful,” one friend whispered, as if she expected someone to be listening in. She reminded me how Donald Trump had called up 4,000 National Guard troops, plus 700 Marines, to quash the anti-ICE demonstrations in L.A. “You don’t want to be caught in something that turns violent,” she warned, as if I was considering running into a spray of bullets.

At Pilates that morning, an acquaintance gave me the look of a worried mother. “There could be agitators. And, you know, Trump could use that as an excuse to order shooting.” Another cautioned: “Safety first, then protest.”

I know they mean well. But still.

How did we become such chickenshits? As recently as seven or eight months ago, I doubt anyone would have regarded participating in a political demonstration as a dangerous act. I mean, we’re not in Hong Kong, right?

Not yet, anyway.

But Trump has cast a spell, and he has us where he wants us: scared. Even before a baton is raised or an order issued, we’re already doing the work for him – gagging ourselves, curbing our actions, hiding our faces or retreating to our homes. It’s acquiescence borne out of fear, analogous to what we’re seeing from companies and law firms that are paying Trump billions of dollars, cancelling DEI programs or contorting themselves to align with this administration’s priorities.

And the left is complicit in stoking this culture of fear too. One example is the protest tips found on social media. While the ACLU offers a good primer, some of the advice offered by self-designated experts strikes me as alarmist:

• Bring a burner phone to avoid surveillance and data collection by the authorities.

• Don’t wear anything distinctive — no logos, no bright colors.

• Cover tattoos. Cover your face or wear a mask.

• Don’t post photos of demonstrations on social media, unless faces are blurred.

• Don’t throw away personal trash that might contain your DNA.

Seriously? That last bit about the trash made me laugh uncontrollably.

Unless you’re a murderer on the lam, planning an insurrection or prepping for the next edition of Mission Impossible, these precautions feel absurd. And counterproductive. They don’t prepare people; they terrify them. They make protesting sound illicit and perilous — something that requires concealment. (But somehow covering your face while carrying a giant “Fuck Trump” sign, like the guy below, is practicing discretion?)

Call me naive and cavalier. But I believe if you’re going to protest, own it. Frankly, my patience wears thin with the hedgers, the ones who just want to “blend” into the crowd, the ones who want to make a statement – but only in hushed tones. Isn't the point of protesting to be seen and heard?

Let’s be clear: I am well aware of how far Trump has pushed this country toward an autocracy, and I have my own reasons to be fearful. I’m also fully aware that none of these protests will make one iota of difference in how he governs (is “governing” the right word?) this country.

The goal was never to change his mind.

I protested to exercise a basic right. Like voting. Like saying whatever I damn please. Like writing this opinion piece. And the more those rights feel imperiled, the more I feel an urgency to use them.

So until we descend into full blown authoritarianism (six months, a year, next week? I’m taking bets), I’ll be out there holding my little sign. Unblurred. Uncovered. Unbowed.

And you can put that on the record.

SCENES FROM THE NYC NO KINGS RALLY: