No Kings Chicago
Yesterday afternoon on our way home from Chicago’s No Kings march, we were on a Pink line train. John had his Trump taco man sign, we had our half dozen or so other signs in a black garbage page to keep them together and dry in case it rained. We were fatigued.
It’s always kind of a heavy lift to make a day of a big protest like this as John’s usually up late making extra signs for whoever wants one and our regular routines are disrupted. We wouldn’t have missed the second No Kings march for the world but it is tiring at a time when we, like many people, feel depleted, anxious and overwhelmed. More than anything these days -- with the barrage of attacks and endless destruction nationally and locally -- it is easy to feel moments of hopelessness, even after such a positive day, even after a day with so much inspired, creative energy, it’s not hard to remember the crushing reality that underlies it. In those moments when the adrenaline dissipates, when we disperse from that collective cocoon, after we have fulfilled what we came here to do for the most part, that’s when the dark thoughts start to wash in, at least for me. My brain is finally quiet for a minute, I’m finally sitting still, and the floodgates that were holding hopelessness back a bit begin to wobble and crack. This is so much a part of my process that I barely notice it anymore. It’s just something to move through.
Our train car going back was full, not so much with protestors this time, though there were a few, but just people on the Pink line. Some of the people on the train wanted to pose with and take pictures of John’s taco sign and he was happy to oblige. There was a young woman sitting next to me on our row, texting or posting on her phone, and I was looking at the guy sleeping on the row across from me, trying to make sure his shirt was moving, that he was breathing. He was spread out across a bunch of seats. This is something he is used to doing. I was thinking about this man I don’t know, but I do know that at least at one point in his life, maybe when he was a baby, he was the apple of someone’s eye: A parent, a relative, a teacher who saw potential in him. In that moment yesterday, he was getting some sleep as the train made its loop until he got kicked off. As more and more safety nets are slashed in this regime’s war on poor people, riding the train for safety, warmth and sleep becomes more of a reality.
As I was feeling that heaviness, the young woman sitting next to me, the one who had been typing on her phone, turned toward me and started talking to me. She looked at our signs and said quietly, “Thank you for going out today. It’s so nice to see that so many people care enough spend their Saturday speaking up for us, for immigrants.” She told me that she is from Mexico, her family is all there, she is a student in college, here legally but afraid. She told me that she cannot go to protests or do much in her neighborhood because she’s not confident that her student visa will protect her. Her family worries about her. She could be the first one in her family to graduate from college and she doesn’t want to jeopardize that because it took so many resources and sacrifices to invest in her future. She can’t risk it. I told her to let the people with citizenship do this work for now. She and people like her should not be putting themselves in harm’s way unless they are okay with being detained, thrown in jail, deported. It’s just one small thing we can do to relieve the burden. We should be doing this, I said.
“Well,” she said as she was getting off at her stop, “thank you. You don’t need to be doing this for your own sake but I do appreciate it.” I thanked her for her kindness.
I don’t think many of the millions of us who showed up yesterday in our towns and cities at thousands of No Kings events, who are advocating for the vulnerable even when it’s not a major march, expect to be thanked. But, please know, we are being seen. We are appreciated. It’s not about that, it’s not transactional, but if you are feeling hopeless and depleted, remember that the world is watching our resistance to cruelty and authoritarianism. The world is made up of so many individuals like that woman sitting next to me. You don’t have to go to protests; just putting up a window or yard sign, letting your neighbors know you are a safe person, speaking up, wearing your heart on your chest with a humanitarian message on your shirt or buttons, making phone calls...it all matters and it all makes a difference, especially in the collective. The world is watching, history is being written, and people, like that kind young woman from Mexico sitting next to me on Chicago’s Pink line, are grateful. You are not doing it for acknowledgement but know that the appreciation is happening regardless.
In your dark moments, like I was having yesterday after the vibes of the march wore off, remember that even when you don’t see it, you are making a positive change as a voice of resistance. The world is noticing, including the ones who are implementing the cruelty. (They are *really* noticing it.) It all matters. Now rest. There will still be plenty to keep you occupied after you have restored yourself. 💛💛💛
Pictured below: My husband and his Trump taco sign at yesterday’s No Kings march.
