My First Protest Rally Had Tacos and One Angry Man

Nobody wants to spend their Saturday at a political protest. It’s not like anyone wakes up thinking, “You know what sounds relaxing? Yelling slogans with strangers.” But then Robert DeNiro said something about tyranny, and some friends were going to the No Kings protest, and I thought: fine. It’s an experience worth having. Like jury duty or colonoscopies.

So I made a few signs and went to today’s No Kings protest with my husband, Neil.

Before you get any ideas, I’m not one of those people. I vote for candidates, not parties. My ballot history looks like a drunk game of political beer pong: Bush, Obama, Romney, Clinton. I’m not a rabid Trump-hater either. I can even appreciate a few things from his last term (simplifying taxes, for one).

But this time, I disagree enough with Trump’s policies to get on the street for the first time in my life.

We were surprised to see so many gathered. The last No Kings protest only inspired a few dozen people in my town of 60,000. But this one had maybe 1,000. 

We saw people in costumes with clever hand made signs that said things like, “Orange Lies Matter” and “So bad, even introverts showed up.” People sporting sequins and beating drums. An elderly woman in a wheelchair. A chicken whose outfit said, “Let’s go, TACO,” which stands for Trump Always Chickens Out when it comes to his trade war. And probably some other things, too.

The vibe? Like a Taylor Swift concert with less music and more chanting. Everyone was friendly. Cars drove by honking with short, cheerful beeps that meant “I support you!” and long, angry blasts that meant “I don’t!”

Neil and I carried matching “NOPE” signs, which drew compliments. “I love that — so simple. Two nopes!” one woman said, like we’d invented minimalism.

I did have a small fear that some nutter might drive by with an AK-47, mowing us down mid-chant, but even the counter-protesters seemed tame. All I saw were a few disapproving scowls, like we’d cut in line at Costco.

On the walk back to our car, an older man muttered something at us. I didn’t catch it, so I mentioned it to Neil. The man turned around.

“What happens to Americans who show up uninvited to other countries?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” I said. “You tell me.”

He perked up. “They kick them out! Nobody wants illegal aliens!”

“I don’t either,” I said. “We probably agree on more than you think.”

He looked at me like I’d missed the point, shook his head, and stomped off.

I wish I had the presence of mind to say, “What do you think this protest is about?” But I didn’t. Besides, why get into it with some old guy in a parking lot?

As we walked away, Neil said, “That’s why I don’t even bother. People like that—“

“No,” I interrupted, “That’s why we have to bother. Dismissing someone who disagrees with you is how we got here.”

I still believe that.

I think we collectively need to figure out how to communicate with people who disagree with us. They won’t hear us otherwise. We need to listen more than we speak. We need to ask questions without making assumptions. We need to want to understand them more than we demand they understand us. 

It’s the only way to be heard. Otherwise, we’re preaching to the choir just to avoid getting our feathers ruffled. To avoid progress. Which is the very thing we want the most.