No Kings Protest, take 2 by Sue Robin

I have been preparing for the second No Kings Protest for the last few weeks. Filled with sadness about the necessity of protesting and determined to make my voice heard. I bought a yellow t-shirt that has “Be Kind” emblazoned on it and researched safety advice. With the Speaker of the House and the President himself calling this an “I Hate America” Protest, I was fearful that his minions would bring violence to the event. Thankfully, they did not.

The day before, as my husband and I worked on our signs, we smiled at the thought of the millions of people sitting at their kitchen tables doing the same thing. We carefully planned the trip down the hill, agreeing to arrive early enough to find parking south of the boulevard, making an escape home easy if necessary, and to have breakfast at our usual haunt.

I almost broke down in tears when we told the twenty-something cashier that we had come for the protest, and she did not know that it was happening, nor what it was about, though everyone in the restaurant was clearly headed out to the street with placards after their meal. The young man who dropped our food at the table was also oblivious. I relished the opportunity to explain to these young people what all the fuss was about. They both graciously listened.

Twice as many people here in Studio City as at the last “No Kings Rally,” six deep on the sidewalk and stretched five blocks on both sides of the street. More honking support. And only one car that turned up the volume to blast YMCA, which Trump has adopted as a theme song. The police presence was minimal. We greeted the one cop we saw on our way in, promising to help keep things calm. He responded with, “You guys are always good.”

The signs were filled with passion and love of country. Tiny little ones, huge ones, ones with literary references, some bawdy ones, lots of humor sprinkled throughout—all proclaiming the pain our country is in right now and a knowing that we are the only ones who can fix it.

The energy was intense and committed. A young teen drummed an inspiring cadence as he marched up and down the sidewalk. A woman with a tambourine had a responsive chant for all of us. “Hey, hey, Ho, Ho, Donald Trump has got to go.” Another would yell out, “What does democracy look like?” and we would respond, “THIS IS WHAT DEMOCRACY LOOKS LIKE!”. Each time she started, I choked up.

What we were doing is the heart of democracy, and our First Amendment is a precious right. I value it deeply and do not want my son and his family to live in a country without it. I will continue to protest, write when the sadness lifts for a moment, and try to teach those who have no idea what is going on in our world every chance I get.