By Derek May:
On Tuesday, March 4, 2025, each capital city in all fifty U.S. states held protests to denounce the current state of our country as a result of a deluge of policies and orders from Donald Trump, Elon Musk, and their political acolytes. It was a day of lawful (despite what Trump claims), peaceful resistance and an expression of one of the most fundamental rights historically and constitutionally afforded us as citizens and a bedrock practice for venting our opinions to our representatives. For some, such assemblies are old hat; but for others, like myself, it was a first venture into this specific form of activism and a tentative new step into the larger political world.
Please don’t mistake my lack of protest experience for lack of engagement. I’ve always heartily supported the right of peaceful assembly and believe in its effectiveness as a tool
for giving voice to the masses and fodder for engaging in debate. My desire to join the chorus of voices has always been there, it’s simply been a strange confluence of circumstances that had prevented me from physically attending. Sometimes scheduling, sometimes lack of detailed information, sometimes other things. But like millions of others, I’ve found that as our country has waded further and further into ever-more-dangerous waters, my call to action has been growing increasingly louder. And while I may not have always been able to put my boots on the ground, I have certainly tried to find other ways to offer my support, whether through voting, financial contributions, writing articles, or doing my best to provide factual argument against the firehose of mis- and dis-information to those open to hearing it.
But on that Tuesday, the stars aligned, and I knew it was time to get out there and join my likeminded compatriots for something else, something—hopefully—more.
Though if I’m being honest, there’s more to it than that—at least for me. Many of us feel as if we barely made it through Trump 1.0. The four years that followed, while certainly not perfect by any stretch, were a refreshing return to a familiar normalcy and a sense of righting the ship and our standing in the global community. But after the gut punch of November 2024, the ever-creeping sense of dread has now exploded into an all-out assault. I don’t
think, dear reader, there is any ambiguity about where I stand politically or ideologically, but I think anyone taking an honest look at what has been happening these first few months can legitimately say things are not headed in the right direction. I don’t care which side of the aisle you fall on, it’s objectively wrong to alienate our allies, to openly side with Putin and Russia, to brazenly start trade wars on numerous fronts (especially with our allies), to deliberately tank what was (and this is verifiably true) the best U.S. economy in decades, and most especially to chainsaw our government agencies and employees in vital positions without any coherent and transparent thought or care (so bad, in fact, they have to be hired back!). I could, unfortunately, go on, but I digress.
Point is, there’s a lot of “stuff” happening all at once (by design). A lot of us want no part of any of it; some are just waking up to the realities setting in. But whichever way you slice it, there are only so many fingers to plug the holes. It’s getting harder and harder to keep up the resistance and easier and easier to feel overwhelmed and that there’s nothing that can be done. Here in Texas, a state so red it burns, it’s especially daunting. Calls to our governor, our reps, our senators, are most likely falling on deaf ears. And despite our increasingly connected virtual world, it’s easy to feel isolated.
What I sought most from attending this protest—the very thing I was hoping to find—was a sense that I wasn’t alone. With all the gaslighting and false narratives blasting from all directions Every. Single. Day, I really just needed to know that I wasn’t crazy. That I wasn’t alone. That there were others who are seeing what I am seeing, who are feeling what I am feeling.
When my friends and I arrived at the steps of the Texas State Capitol in Austin, the assembled group was small and somewhat subdued. Being my first time, I didn’t have high expectations beyond standing there for the next few hours amongst the crowd, belting out a few chants, listening to a few speakers, holding a few signs. And yes, for the most part that is what happened. But within the first hour, the crowd began to swell, and you could feel the energy ramping up bit by bit.
This particular protest was organized by the 50501 group, as in fifty protests in fifty states for one movement. Though I have no basis for comparison, I thought they did a good job organizing the event and never letting silence linger—there was always a voice speaking out. They had an open sign-up sheet and actively encouraged hearing from the community. One by one, citizens (including a park ranger and recent DOGE casualty) stood up to denounce some administrative action or share a personal anecdote about how they or a loved one have been personally affected by what is happening.
What struck me most was the diversity of both audience and topic. As I looked around the crowd, I saw young and old, male, female, and non-binary, gay, straight, and trans, civilian and military, passionate and patient. The signs were varied and often brilliantly clever. I previously thought of protests as inherently specific: for women’s suffrage, against the Vietnam War, for reproductive rights, against racism and police brutality, etc. But I think it was a telling commentary that on this day, some were there to reject Musk and DOGE, others to support Ukraine, some to deride Trump’s lies, some to support gay rights. There is so much horror currently being unleashed that it’s dealer’s choice what to focus on.
I couldn’t help but notice the irony that the Republicans are fracturing based on selfish, partisan desires while here we were coming together despite differences in what felt most concerning to each of us.
That sense of unity, of community, of shared purpose felt good. But it really started to hit home when they announced we were moving from the steps down to the street. As we headed toward Congress Avenue, we spotted a phalanx of police officers, some on motorcycles or bicycles, others manning barricades. My friends and I looked at each other, hearts skipping a beat wondering if we might be heading for a crackdown; but we breathed easier when we saw them simply there to provide us all safe passage down the wide street, leading us onto the (in)famous 6th Street before looping back toward the capitol building. As the marchers rounded a corner, I got a good look at our ranks, and those few hundred from the start had somehow swelled to a thousand or more.
Marching through the city’s bustling downtown streets at midday, seeing and feeling the eyes of office workers, construction crews, tourists, and idling motorists upon us had a strange dual effect. On one hand, it made us feel like we were “really” protesting, like we were part of all those stereotypical ideas of what a protest should be. We held our signs high, belted out our rhymes, challenged observers to hear our pleas and maybe—just maybe—feel our sway and consider our points; hell, maybe even join us next time. On the flipside was a feeling of nervous dread. Would there be counter-protesters on the sidelines or armed militia boys chomping for a fight? Or perhaps a lone agitator bent on making a deadly statement? The fear felt remote but real. This is Texas, after all, and division is perhaps as strong as it has ever been. My friends and I had indeed weighed the risks before deciding to come, and we wondered how many chose to stay home because of them.
Fortunately, we encountered no such animosity. In fact, I was truly shocked by its absence. I simply assumed a certain level of reprisal. But even as the march settled into its final position on the sidewalk outside the gates of the capitol, right at the intersection of two major streets, the worst we saw was a single, quiet middle finger from a lone tourist driving past. In actual fact, we received a hearty and encouraging number of supportive honks from passing vehicles throughout the demonstration.
All in all, for a midweek, midday protest, we felt accomplished. Who knows if anything we said that day got through to anyone outside our echo chamber. Maybe we were merely preaching to our own choir, maybe we were more of a novelty than a movement. But even if that were true, there was one effect that was undeniable. For my friends and I, we felt part of a group that recognized the same injustices and unacceptable activities we did. Despite what biased networks and social media may show, or even what our current president says, people are aware of what is happening. The same conclusions are being reached because they are becoming inescapable; and even more than that, people are resisting in whatever way they can.
I’d started that day with my hopes waning, thinking that the unending problems were becoming insurmountable. But I ended with a glimmer of idealism and a reminder that sometimes it’s just about the collection of little things. Sometimes it’s just getting out there and adding your face and your voice to the group.
I’m a straight, white male. For the most part, I’m one of the safer demographics (for now). But I also believe that that’s why it was important to join others without those protections, to show that even the “safe” groups have your back. I wanted them to see me there as much as I needed them to tell me I wasn’t screaming into the void alone.
I think that sort of reciprocation is unique to this kind of in-person event. So while this may have been my first protest, I don’t think it’ll be my last. They need me, I need them, we all need to keep going. Maybe next time you’ll join us. Because as the chant goes . . .
“The people, united, will never be divided.”
Derek May, of San Antonio, TX, is Editor-in-Chief and occasional writer for Flapper Press. He has written nearly 50 movie reviews for movieweb.com and completed 13 original feature film and television screenplays, many of which have been winners or finalists in such prestigious competitions as the Walt Disney and Nicholl Fellowships, the Austin Film Festival, and the Creative World Awards. He served as a judge for 10 years for the Austin Film Festival and Texas Film Institute screenplay competitions. His latest project is the highly acclaimed stop-motion animation fan series Highlander: Veritas, which released its second season in July 2022.
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