Years ago, when I worked in L.A., I heard there was going to be a faux anti-mutant protest as a promotion for the X-MEN movie. I called up my friend Erik and bought a posterboard and made up a pair of protest signs (one was of Blinky the Fish from "The Simpsons" with a circle-slash through it, and the other said, "Do your duty, report a mutie!"--which I was quite proud of), and we went to the venue to participate in the protest. When we got there, we were told that it was not a real protest, and only paid Fox employees were allowed to march in the parade. It saddened me, and I swore to never raise my hand in protest again.
Yet here we are, twenty-five short years later, and I'm up to my old tricks.
Because
of the long-gestating announcement that Donald Trump was going to have a
military parade in Washington DC to honor the 250th anniversary of the
U.S. Army . . . that just happened to occur on his 79th birthday, an
opposite event was announced: something called No Kings Day.
It
was organized to show criticism of Trump and his cabinet, and in the
last few days got a huge boost as his administration ramped up their
efforts to detain, arrest, harass, and deport as many undocumented
immigrants as possible, focused specifically in Los Angeles, where the
whole infrastructure is basically propped up by undocumented workers. I
don't have to tell you this, but Trump's birthday celebration could not
have fallen at a worse time, at least as far as his general approval
among Americans goes.*
My niece and her fiancé
recently went to a rally in the capitol, where I could only listen to
the livestream while going on an uncharacteristic daylight run, but I
sent her a message when I heard about No Kings Day, and asked if she
wanted to go to it. Me not being near to her favorite uncle, I heard
nothing for almost two weeks . . . but a couple of days before the
event, she texted me back saying she was in. It would be Saturday
morning, starting at nine am.
I had worked the
night before, and there was a lady at work who was talking about going
and told me that, if I went, I should make a sign to hold up to the
traffic that drove by. So, after finishing my shift, and wasting my
time going to Target, and doing my run, and eating, I sat down to make a
sign. I tried to think of a play on words, a pun on the word Trump or a
rhyme with the word "Don," or his famous "I like people who weren't
captured" statement.**
Ultimately, all I could
come up with was to draw the Burger King mascot and put a circle with a
slash through it (what I irritatingly refer to as the Ghostbusters
symbol), and another where I wrote the words "So Much Destruction, Such
Little Hands."
I should have made a third sign,
since Cathexis's boyfriend was also coming, and ended up driving us
there, but I'm not sure what I would've written on it (I'm still fond of
the old saw "If You're Not Angry, You're Not Paying Attention"--one I
could write up for next time), but when we got there, somebody handed my
niece a "No Kings" sign, and now we all had one.
We
drove to the middle of town, where the City Center is (and where my
niece has recently started working), and the size of the crowd was
unbelievable. It was probably three or four times what I imagined, even
thinking a lot of folks would be there. People were very nice,
patient, and seemingly happy to be there. I saw so many clever, funny,
or incendiary signs, and discovered that everybody had their own thing
they were outraged about, from climate change to bastardry, from
deliberate ignorance to Ukraine, from dishonesty to billionaires being
in charge, from racism to Trump being a literal pile of shit, from criminality to
climate change denial.
But the issue that the
most people were up in arms about was the immigration policy. The thing
is, every single one of us, unless you're a Navajo or Shoshone or Ute,
is an immigrant, or descended from one. Because of the pioneer heritage of many around here, there were signs that pointed out that, if you're white, it's a legacy, but if you're brown, it's an invasion. And "No One Is Illegal On Stolen
Land," read two or three of the signs.
And man,
the signs. They ranged from barely-legible to artistically impressive,
funny ("They're Eating The Checks! They're Eating The Balances!") to
heartbreaking (I saw two different Anne Frank quotations, prompting my
niece to ask what I thought of Frank***). There were several signs with
scriptural reference on them, which kind of blew my mind because
I--naively, apparently--simply assumed that all religious folks blindly
pretended that Donald Trump was one of them, and were perfectly content
with the ungodly things he does each and every day.
I
saw a couple of signs that said "I have friends everywhere" on
them, which I recognized as a line from "Andor," and probably means that
I should edit the podcast where Marshal and I talk about it . . .
soonish.
There were also many signs (and
sign-holders) there in support of LGBT causes, which included drag
queens and unicorns. Somehow, in my lifetime, the pink flamingo has
been displaced as the gayest of all animals . . . and that too makes me
sad.
My favorite one simply said, "Chinga La Migra," which is a lyrical, rhymey way of saying "Eff the Immigration Police."
The elderly lady beside us had a sign she was waving that was probably the most decent and benign thing I saw that day, and I did my best Trump impression of him saying, "One nasty woman was waving a nasty sign that said 'Peace and Dignity For All' on, can you believe that?"
The crowd, despite being dangerously large, was calm and
well-behaved, and there were (ring)leaders walking up and down the
sidewalk with megaphones, telling us what to chant, and having us sing This Land Is Your Land, the National Anthem, America The Beautiful, and the theme song to Cheers.
Okay, not that last one, but it would've been very welcome. Oh, and
very out-of-keeping with what we were protesting against, there were
people walking through the crowd offering free water, flag stickers, and
(in one dude's case) Oreo cookies.
Any time
someone heckled, gave us the finger, or threatened to make America great
again, we were instructed to chant "We are peaceful, We are peaceful,
We are peaceful," either to reassure the cops that were walking up and
down the street, keeping an eye on everything.
It
was a hot day, and my niece was trying her best not to roast in the sun
(she vowed to make a sign that said, "It must be bad to make a ginger go
outside and protest!" for next time), but people were accommodating and
arranged themselves so everyone could get some shade that wanted it. I
saw a girl I work with at the library, but she never acknowledged me,
so some things haven't changed. Even so, it was great to be part of a
community, and around so many people passionate about something.
When
we were done, we walked around the whole gathering so we could see the
signs we had missed (someone had brought a giant Very Hungry Caterpillar
that said "Eat the Rich" on it), and then drove around the block so we
could honk and wave at the folks just getting there. In the end, it
won't amount to much--those in power are just too powerful, and the
groups powerful enough to actually make a difference are either
apathetic or complicit. But it felt good to stand next to others, to
sing and shout and not feel alone, not feel like the outrage belonged to
few, but to many.
See ya out there.
*Of
course I don't mean that everybody hates what he's doing. There are
thousands--if not millions--of people out there all too eager to play
Charlie McCarthy to Trump's Edgar Bergen . . . a reference so dated,
only his supporters could be old enough to understand it. And believe
me, the crueler he and his policies get, the harder they become.
**Something like "I like presidents without felony convictions."
***"I love Anne Frank," I said, which seemed comprehensive enough.
