Confessions of a First-Time Protester

"Doing my bit."

No Kings Day. For me, a day that had been looming. I’d never participated in a protest, and, to be real about it, never wanted to. Not because I haven’t strongly, wholeheartedly agreed with the protestors, but rather because I’m not in love with risk.

Some people thrive on adrenalin.

I do not. To me, for example, hopping aboard a death-defying roller coaster just for kicks is nuts. Attending a protest — not quite as daunting, but not a tiptoe through the tulips either. Just give me one of Jan Karon’s Mitford novels or an episode of Heartland, a mug of good coffee with a chocolate chip cookie [read: 3] and I’m happy as a clam.

Maybe you felt the same way as the No Kings Protest approached. Maybe you still do. It’s okay — read on.

Despite participating in other forms of activism, my gut insisted with bothersome persistence that for me, showing up for No Kings Day was an important act of resistance for which I now possibly had the capacity. Further, attendance was urgently needed, because in this case, numbers counted. (And boy, did they add up! I’m now reading that there were over 5 million democracy defenders – humanists – on the streets. My heart swells. Based on the turnout, it seems that I was far from the only protest newbie.)

So – I determined to go. Purposefully, I did not my urge my readers to go. The next brave thing is very personal; growth is always very personal and often involves courage that you absolutely weren’t looking to dig up. I had come to a (very tenuous) place where I could do what for me took real courage.

Courage is moving forward in the face of fear – whatever that fear is. It is absolutely irrelevant – truly extraneous information -- whether anyone else feels afraid of the thing that frightens you. But comparative fear-shaming is very common. Sometimes it’s just plain mean; other times it’s well-intended out of the erroneous belief that shaming/mocking/embarrassing someone will build their confidence. When you think about it, it’s quickly obvious that this is utter nonsense. It’s also unkind and counter-productive. Our fears – as well as our children’s fears -- are real, and they are our own.

What I hoped – and still do – when the idea of creating this blog took up residence in my mind, was to reach out to even just a few people who wanted to challenge themselves (as I was doing) into taking some form of action to literally help save our democracy, our ideals, our way of life – and to protect the rights and safety of all of us. I hoped that each person who took this on would reach out to a few others – possibly invite them into this little group of us – and perhaps those people would then jump in and bring a few others into the fold of activism. It’s a very modest hope – but, I reasoned, if each of us could take action and bring in a few new people to do the same – well, that’s how the demand for change gets louder and bolder. I’ve always loved the way the British call this “doing your bit.”

So, back to Saturday, No Kings Day.

Out where I’m living, I didn’t have a partner to attend the protest with. A fellow activist suggested that I might just drive by and sort of get the lay of the land. Certainly, I thought! This I can easily do! Then I thought, I can take pictures to document this event. Because mass media has elected to minimize or fail entirely to cover protests, it has become incumbent on individuals to spread images widely. (Out of an abundance of caution, I avoided photographing faces.) Armed with a mission that fit me – as well as with water, Kind bars (regardless of the fact that they choke me Every Single Time; still, at least it’s some protein), my emergency numbers, my ID, extra masks, and various other odds and ends, I got into the car.

A mission that fit me well – this is key, and it’s why growth is so personal. A step that for one person is way too big, for another is just right, and for yet another is too small to be an accomplishment. In educational psychology, this concept is called the zone of proximal development. Too big a challenge and the student gives up and feels like a failure. Too small and they quit out of boredom. Finding just the right challenge paves the way for growth. No one can tell you what that is for you in your journey into activism. And no one should tell you what it should be. It’s your call, and your call should be respected and supported. That step, whatever it is, is your next brave thing.

I don’t want to make light of preparation. Although one hopes that everything will go off very smoothly, we have certainly witnessed far too much evidence that it doesn’t always. There’s lot of good information about preparation; what to bring with you; security measures that are set up for the event, and even a central number in case it’s necessary to reach an attorney. Being prepared is not being over-reactive. It’s just smart. Also, it’s the Girl Scout motto 😊.

When I saw people lining the sidewalks, proudly waving their signs, as I drove by, I teared up a little. People who, just like me, cannot accept the horrors that are in full swing in our country. Suddenly I felt less alone in the sometimes hostile territory of a red county. In a suburb of about 36,000 people, over 1500 were in attendance, with two other protests within about five miles. I parked in a nearby lot and began walking through the crowd, camera in hand. People were friendly and glad to have me photograph their signs. Drivers going by honked their support with gusto. Two volunteer marshals reminded us of our boundaries – but only once or twice. It rained for a few minutes – a disposable poncho would be a good addition to the supplies.

And that is how it was. A warm, positive experience amongst committed, amiable people. Joining in was the right thing for me in this moment, and it was the right thing for our country; I feel good about having made the choice to be involved. It is now a thing I have done rather than a thing to worry over.

If you’d like to toss around your experiences from Saturday – or your own next brave thing -- I’ve started a thread where we can chat. As a clinical counselor, my career has been dedicated to helping women and girls take on their own next brave things. What I know so well is that we all need a place to be heard, understood, and accepted, wherever we are in our own journeys. This is a space where that can happen.