“This is the first time I’ve actually participated in a protest since 1973,” shared the poster bearing lady standing next to me. Turns out, she’d travelled to Georgia from Washington, DC for two reasons: first, to join a “No Kings” protest with family and friends in Georgia and, second, to avoid the (in her words) “King’s birthday party masquerading as the celebration of our nation’s glorious U.S. Army history.”

“Wow, what was that 1973 protest you referred to,” I asked. “I protested in support of reproductive rights and Roe versus Wade. And before that I joined scores of protests against the Viet Nam war. But this one, the threat against our democracy, reignited the fire of activism in me.”

For yours truly, the day started two hours earlier on a sun-drenched courtyard in front of the local city government center and was followed by a continuation later on the parking lot of a nearby mall. Both times Americans of all stripes – race, gender, age, physical abilities, etc. – showed up with lounge chairs, umbrellas, baby strollers and wheelchairs to soak up a historical moment, a sense of a nourishing community that seems to be slipping from our grasp.

Said one lady, a former county commissioner who spoke from the dais at the courthouse earlier, “Terry, as I looked out over the crowd earlier and at the hundreds of protesters here in the parking lot, it hit me that this is real America, or maybe I should say this is the ideal and hope of America. There’s something going on here and it’s unstoppable.”

Said local political activist “Ingrid,” who sat next to me on the rain-soaked metal bench before making her way to the dais to speak, “the undeniable truth is that we’re in the midst of a fight for democracy. If we lose this one, we’ll sink into a dictatorship. The stakes are just that high.”

Later that night, I tried to find the best words to describe the experience to my attorney cousin who lives in Maryland.

“Although it’s difficult to put a finger on it, but today it seemed that participants felt finally free from years of pent-up frustration and weariness from COVID-like shutdowns, social distancing, political echo chambers and ethnic conclaves to talk to and not over, at or around those they rarely if ever had opportunities to talk openly and honestly with. I don’t know how else to describe it.”

“I came down from North Carolina to participate in this protest,” shared a “This is Us” poster-bearing white lady. “I’m a Christian, a firm believer in non-violence and wanted to go on record of having done something to make a change.”

Said another protesters standing next to us, “The importance of this day is that it made our collective humanity known and how it got many of us to understand now how much we’ve all been had by the sinister forces that benefit from dividing us. So yes, today we’re joined by the hopes, dreams and hearts of millions of real Americans who are participating in protests across our nation.”

A song by Aretha Franklin blaring through microphones underneath a tent got protesters into a frenzy of clapping, hugging, sashaying in the grass, and out of tune singing along with constant supportive horn-blowing (and a middle finger salute or two) by passers. The joy was electric, medicinal, and infectious. 

Now before I close this out, I’ll beat any naysayers to the punch with these undeniable facts; unlike the January 6th insurrection in Washington, there were no “riots” from protesters on this day; no Molotov Cocktails hurled at police officers; no destruction of public property. No, in actuality it was a liberation day for well over 200 registered protesters, many of whom filtered out into the mall nearby for a bite to eat, or have ice cream and cold drinks with newfound friends.

It’s also worth mentioning that there were no members of the National Guard flown in to protect property or local law enforcement personnel. In truth, the only law enforcement personnel that day on the mall’s parking lot – and from what I could see there were two – was them helping protesters in wheelchairs or pushing strollers across the street. In a proverbial “deer caught in the headlights’ moment”, one officer seemed embarrassed to get caught red-faced humming along and snapping his fingers to the beat of the music and enjoying himself.

In the end, today’s No King protest had the feel of a watershed moment in our nation, one that I liken to toothpaste once it’s out of the tube; try as you might, it aint going back!

I’ll close this one out by dipping again into the well of wisdom by “The Beautiful Mess” writer one John Palovitz, this time his nudge for millions of others to show up in person to fight for the future of America. He tells us this:

You don’t need a T-shirt. You don’t need a sign. No bullhorn is necessary.

No plan is required. You won’t need to shout a slogan or sing a song or make a sound.

You won’t need to run into harm’s way. All you need to do is show up. Your presence will speak eloquently.

Terry Howard is an award-winning writer, a contributing writer with the Chattanooga News Chronicle, The American Diversity Report, The Douglas County Sentinel, Blackmarket.com, recipient of the Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. Leadership Award, and third place winner of the Georgia Press Award.