Hi everyone. Thank you for all your support when I announced the publication date of my new book last week. I really appreciate it, especially as I was overwhelmed with a feeling of inadequacy upon submitting the manuscript to my editor. Apparently, self-doubt and even dread are common in the book-writing-and-promoting process, but all your encouraging messages and pre-orders have been very helpful, so thank you.
This weekend, I attended Seattle’s No King protest. I went because I felt terrible about everything. Over the past few months, there has been one crisis after another. The ICE raids in LA and everywhere, the assault of Senator Padilla, the assassination of Minnesota State Representative Melissa Hortman and her husband Mark Hortman, the continued attacks on trans people, the ongoing support of genocide. Right before the protest, I had read about the deportation of 160 Southeast Asians, including 93 to Vietnam, where I grew up. Many of these people have been in the US since they were children or have never even set foot in Southeast Asia.
For months now, it’s been relentless. And exhausting. And a real kick in the face that we’re all contributing, through our tax dollars, to the $45-million military parade to celebrate the orange despot’s birthday, while he and his cult work to gut Medicaid, food stamps, and other benefits for the most vulnerable in society while enriching his wealthy cronies.
Halfway to the light rail station, I realized I had forgotten my bottle of water, which was important not only for hydration, but also for rinsing your eyes if you get tear-gassed. I was about to head back when I saw some volunteers standing at a table, handing out water, snacks, sunscreen, and know-your-rights flyers, all for free. I don’t think I realized how much emotion I had been holding in until I looked at the smiling face of the person who handed me a bottle of water. My eyes without warning welled up at this small act of kindness, but I kept my composure.
I scanned around and saw dozens of people lining up for the train, holding signs with various messages written on them. The train itself was packed so tight that people could barely move. At each station, more would come in, until it was impossible to stuff in anymore. I had never seen the light rail that full; the only time it came close was when the Seahawks won the Super Bowl in 2014 and we all went to the stadium to celebrate (while a few people set fire to a couch or two).
While the long ride was uncomfortable, and then it took another ten minutes just to get out of the station, since the concentrated mass of protestors created a bottleneck at the escalators. But there was a tangible sense of camaraderie. Everyone was happy and kind, looking out for one another.
At the rally point, I saw the full scope of the protest. I had never seen this many people gathered in Seattle in my 25 years of living here. There were so many protestors that it was a bit difficult to maneuver during the march. People of all races and ethnicities. LGBTQIA folks. The energy was amazing. It was joyful with a palpable and powerful sense of community. It had been a long time since I felt something like this.
So many people marching in defiance of hatred and cruelty. The chants. The signs. Everywhere I looked, there were scenes of kindness and courage. At one point, two people were helping a woman who looked to be in her 80s, holding her arms on both sides so she could walk, slowly but steadily. I felt my eyes welling up again, and I stuffed my face with a vegan donut a friend had bought me.
I came home after a few hours, exhausted but in a good way. I saw on social media that Trump’s authoritarian display, a disrespectful and money-wasting parade no one asked for, failed to draw the crowd he anticipated. It’s a joke all over social media, the squeaking of these rusty tanks a symbol of his regime.
Meanwhile, across the US (as well as other parts of the world), millions of people had joined in protests. Some estimates have it at 5million to 11million people total across the 2,000 cities, including many Republican strongholds.
11 million, if you recall, is about 3.5% of the US population. And 3.5% of the population engaging in active resistance is what researcher Erica Chenoweth says is the threshold for when significant change happens to take down authoritarian regimes.
No, it is not guaranteed. One day of protest, even when 3.5% of the population participates, is not enough to save democracy. We must continue fighting and resisting every day and in various ways. But this threshold is vital, an essential ingredient for anything to succeed, a critical beginning. And judging by what I saw and heard, people are energized and rejuvenated for the battles ahead.
Things have been rough. They will continue to be for a while. The budget that is going through the Senate right now will devastate millions of low-income people, cause the wealthy to be even wealthier, as well as weaken the judiciary’s power to curb this fascist regime’s power. We must rally to stop it. And stop the ICE raids and the attacks on transgender people. And we continue speaking up against the genocide of Palestinians.
But please have hope and keep fighting. Rest where you can. Find strength in community.
I haven’t felt this optimistic and fired up in a while. The No King rally was a good reminder that we, the people on the side of equity and justice, far outnumber the bullies and bigots who are currently in power. We will outflank them. We will outlast them. We will rebuild what they are trying to destroy and create a stronger, better society.
I know this sentiment is growing. As one protestor so succinctly puts it on his sign: “Our Tide will remove the orange stain.”
