We Are Not Subjects
Why I’m Joining My First Protest—And What’s at Stake if We Don’t Show Up
No Kings, No Silence
I have never attended a protest. Not when George Floyd was murdered, even though I wept with the world. Not when Roe v. Wade fell, even though I felt that loss deep in my body. Not when teachers like me were told we could no longer speak honestly about race, history, or identity in our classrooms. I’ve always cared. I’ve always spoken up. I’ve always tried to advocate through writing, educating, and engaging in difficult conversations. But I have never physically taken to the streets.
This weekend, that will change.
There is something about this moment that has broken through the last layer of fear and hesitation I’ve held onto. Maybe it’s the images of National Guard troops being deployed across cities. Maybe it’s watching the peaceful protests in Los Angeles be branded as “riots” by a political machine that thrives on chaos and control. Or maybe it’s because I now understand, more than ever, that silence is not neutrality. Silence is complicity. And I will not be complicit in the erosion of democracy.
No Kings Day is not just a protest. It is a declaration that we, the people, will not quietly accept authoritarianism wrapped in patriotic language. It is a reminder that the United States was founded on resistance to tyranny, not submission to it. It is a call to remember that we do not serve kings in this country, and we never should.
For those unfamiliar, No Kings Day is being organized in response to a disturbing pattern that has been unfolding across America. Protesters are being arrested for dissent. Senators are being dragged out of press conferences. Governors are deploying military forces against their own citizens while claiming to defend “order.” These are not isolated incidents. They are part of a larger strategy to suppress opposition, centralize power, and create the illusion of national unity through forced compliance. It is not about law and order. It is about control.
I understand that not everyone sees it yet. I also understand that many do, but feel helpless. That’s where I was until recently. I believed that my role was to educate. To write. To speak from the safety of my own corner of the world. But I’ve come to realize that while those things matter, they are not always enough. There are moments in history when words must be followed by presence. There are moments when showing up physically becomes a spiritual and moral act.
To be clear, I am not going because I love conflict. I am going because I love this country enough to fight for what it’s supposed to be. A place where all people are free. A place where dissent is not criminalized. A place where the government is held accountable by the people, not protected from them. I am going because I have three children, and I want them to grow up knowing that freedom is not inherited—it is protected, over and over again, by the people who refuse to let fear win.
There is a particular weight that comes with being someone who has privilege, especially when that privilege has kept you comfortable. I am white. I am not at risk in the same ways that many others are. That does not excuse my silence. It demands my participation. If those with the most to lose are showing up, how can I, with all that I have been given, stay home?
I know it will be tense. I know the risk. I have counted the cost. But I have also counted the cost of doing nothing. And that cost, to me, is greater. Because if I do not show up now—if we do not show up now—then we are allowing the narrative to be written by those who abuse power and twist reality to suit their agenda.
This protest is not about violence. It is not about chaos. It is about reclaiming our collective voice before it is taken from us altogether. It is about standing side by side with people we may not know, to defend values we cannot afford to lose. It is about peace, power, and presence. And it is about love. Love for country. Love for community. Love for the generations coming after us who will ask what we did when things got dangerous.
I don’t have a perfect plan for how this weekend will go. I don’t know what signs I’ll see or what chants I’ll join. But I know I will be there. I will be standing on the side of freedom, accountability, and truth. And I hope, if you are able, you will too.
Because there are no kings in a democracy. And there never should be.
History is always watching—but so are our children. If we want to raise a generation that values truth, freedom, and justice, then we have to live like those values matter. This weekend, I will stand not just for myself, but for them. For the people who cannot risk showing up. For the people who are already being targeted. And for the America that still exists in the hearts of those brave enough to keep believing. I am done sitting this out. I’ll see you there.
We are the Patriots now.