The temperatures are in the mid-20s, wind-chill approaching single digits, and after a while it started snowing. But here we were, bundled up, on a patch of land behind downtown which is owned by the guy who sells Subarus down on Chestnut St. There were a lot of us; I can't say how many, but it looked to be about the same number as the last time I was here, back in April. Maybe more.
The sound system was really good; you could hear clearly from anywhere. Focused, concise speeches, good live music, candidates passing petitions in the back, signs everywhere. No one really up front, by the stage, because there were a lot of puddles there. Overcast, and the wind made sign management tricky.
The signs were different this time, I think - a subtle shift. They were more serious, more pointed, issue-based, assertive. There were a lot of those in the past, but most of them were like that this time; there were fewer comical signs, fewer signs making fun of Trump & Co.; fewer that you'd laugh at. We are fed up by now. Shit is getting serious. One old guy had a smallish piece of cardboard, a hand-lettered sign that asked, "Is he dead yet?"
We listened to (excellent) speeches, sang, chanted, and then marched up to Main St., where we lined both sides for a long block or so, three or four deep. Most drivers on Main St. honked their solidarity. We waved our signs and did democracy. Then, after a while, in small groups or individually, we headed for home.
Why do we do this, when it won't make a difference? Abbey's cousin asked that yesterday. We do it because it's our patriotic duty, our service to country, our job as a citizen of democracy. The only reason that there were seven million people at the last No Kings protests is because I was there - says everyone who was there. If I don't show up, no one shows up, and the criminals in power will assume all is well.
All is not well.
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