I Went to a Protest

I’m not a sign-waving, chanting in the streets kind of guy.  And probably never will be.  But I do find value in being involved in the community and in making my voice known (respectfully and humbly).  In other words, participating, not just observing.  Or worse, staying oblivious. 

In that spirit, I had resolved to participate, modestly, in the next No Kings demonstration this March.  I have a centrist sensibility and have voted for candidates in both major parties over the decades, but have been dismayed by many actions of the current administration.  

I knew there would be many thousands of participants in my local area of northern Virginia and Washington DC, so why not ride my bike down and exercise my rights to make my voice and presence known for a little while? 

And then I realized I’d be in Texas on the day of the protest, not near DC.  Deep in the heart of Texas.  A red state, oooh.   

If I showed up, would there be just a handful of people, waving a few signs?  Would there be counter-protesters yelling at us?  Would local police give us a hard time?   

Having a few extra hours that morning, I resolved to check it out. I drove over to the downtown Frisco, TX intersection that the No Kings website had identified.  The event was supposed to be from 9-11am.  I didn’t know what the “event” would be.  Marching?  Chanting?  Confrontation?  

At 8:45am, I arrived. There was nobody there, nothing going on. I drove a little farther, parked, ate most of a Wendy’s sausage breakfast burrito, and decided to walk over to the intersection. Maybe a few people would eventually show up.  Even if there were only a dozen of us, that’s okay.  I figured they’d be happy to have an out-of-town Virginian join them.

Or maybe the whole event just fizzed.  This is Texas, right? 

How wrong I was.

As I got out of my car, like fireflies at night, everywhere I looked around me, I started to notice groups of two or three people walking with signs.  Ah, I thought, maybe there will be more than a dozen people.

I made my way over and saw about 50 people on my side of the street with signs and American flags.  On the other side of the street were dozens more.  Traffic passing by bleated out honks and drivers waved, triggering scattered cheers from our group.  

Not for the first time that morning, I felt just a bit emotional.  What a lovely thing to see people gathering on an unusually cool Texas Saturday morning to make their voices heard. 

I didn’t do much.  I had no sign and didn’t want one.  I just wanted to be present physically, chat with some people, and participate in my own way.  At least I could say I was there.

The crowds grew and by 9:30am, I counted hundreds of peopleFWIW, a Dallas Morning News Facebook post stated “over 200” people showed up in Frisco. That was accurate. Sort of. It was definitely over 200. My informal count was probably double that. Several commenters on the post claimed nearly 600 which I could believe since people were still arriving when I left. lining both sides of the street.  No marching and only a little chanting by a few enthusiastic groups.  My kind of protest.  

There were no counter-protestors.  Several of Frisco’s finest were there.  They were friendly.  Their vibe was “we’re just here to make sure things stay peaceful”. They were the opposite of intimidating. 

Someone had a bubble machine going, a DJ set up some music and the party was on by the time I had to leave a little while later.  The whole time, Texas drivers were continually honking and waving their support.  

Whatever your political persuasion, getting involved is good.  It’s hard to be completely cynical and untrusting when you’re personally out there in your community, trying to make a difference. It infuses you with a feeling of the power of being a citizen.   

It’s tempting to think we are powerless and can’t do anything to change things. But almost nothing changes unless individuals try to do something. There’s no outside power or secret cabal reaching in that’s going to change things for us. It’s just us. It always has been.

There are places in the world where it takes real bravery to make your voice heard. And I understand that some feel afraid to go out and protest due to immigration status or fears of repercussions. But for the vast majority of us, including me, it’s a minimal risk endeavor.  I’m glad I did it.

When I drove away, I made sure to drive back down the street in my rented, non-protest-looking white sports car and honk and wave my support at everybody.  I got lots of cheers.