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No Kings vs. The Parade of Power
June 17,2025
While Donald Trump’s military parade trudged forward in a swirl of heavy machinery, costumed might, and the sparse applause of the already convinced, another movement quietly swelled in contrast and defiance: the No Kings protests.
The contrast between the two could not be sharper, not only in tone and scale, but in spirit and purpose. Trump’s parade was a projection of power, not American power rooted in democratic ideals or civic pride, but a borrowed image of authoritarian spectacle, more in line with the strongman theatrics of Russia or North Korea than with anything traditionally American. It was staged patriotism, hollowed of humility and filled with self-congratulatory bombast. Rows of tanks, rigid salutes, and the whine of fighter jets overhead were meant to inspire awe, but ended up exposing insecurity, both personal and political.
It was less a celebration of America and more a celebration of one man’s craving to be seen as dominant. Trump’s vision of national pride is transactional and performative, with loyalty measured in applause and power asserted through intimidation. His parade was not born of shared sacrifice or collective achievement, but of a singular desire to mimic the authoritarian leaders he openly admires. The crowd was thin, the response muted. The entire spectacle felt less like a national event and more like a vanity project turned public expense.
The No Kings protests, by comparison, offered no tanks, no flyovers, and no pomp. Instead, they offered something far more powerful: dissent rooted in civic responsibility. Held in public parks, on street corners, in city centers and rural crossroads alike, the gatherings rejected not just the parade itself, but the idea that American leadership should be above question or challenge. Their voices, unamplified by tanks or jets, rang clearer because they were not shouting over lies.
Where the parade demanded silence and submission, the protests invited conversation and community. Strangers became allies in defense of shared values: free speech, human dignity, the rule of law, and a system of checks and balances that exists precisely to prevent the rise of kings. These gatherings were decentralized but coordinated, spontaneous yet deeply principled. They did not wait for permission. They simply acted, because history teaches us that in the face of rising authoritarianism, waiting is complicity.
In the end, the parade does not strengthen national unity. It does not educate, inspire, or uplift. It leaves no enduring civic benefit. It functions solely as a monument to one person’s unchecked ego, built on the illusion of strength and the misuse of symbols that are supposed to belong to all of us.
Meanwhile, the “No Kings” protests serve the opposite purpose. They welcome civic participation, encourage engagement, and spark dialogue. These gatherings are not silent marches of obedience. They are festivals of free speech, where people bring handmade signs, pass out pocket Constitutions, and host impromptu discussions about the separation of powers. They are civic education in motion.
This matters. A protest that encourages people to read, vote, organize, and run for office is a protest that strengthens democracy. A parade that tells people to gape in awe at war machines while listening to a single man exalt himself weakens it. The former builds capacity. The latter demands obedience.
More than just oppositional energy, the “No Kings” movement cultivates a constructive ethic. It feeds voter turnout. It inspires down-ballot organizing. It revitalizes attention to the judiciary, to voting access, and to local accountability. It sparks energy in the spaces where real change begins, not at the top, but at the grassroots. It does not rely on one leader, one slogan, or one party. It taps into something deeper: the belief that the American system, though flawed, is still worth defending, and still salvageable through collective action.
“No Kings” is not just a rejection of Trump; it is a reclaiming of America’s founding spirit. The idea that we do not bow to men, no matter how gilded their stage. The movement draws its strength from a long tradition of American dissent. From abolitionists who challenged the moral rot of slavery, to suffragettes who defied the silence imposed on them, to civil rights marchers who braved clubs and fire hoses. America’s most profound steps forward have always been powered not by parades but by protests.
The phrase “No Kings” is both slogan and warning. It reminds us that our founders, flawed as they were, understood the corrosive danger of unchecked power. They built a system designed to resist coronation, to frustrate authoritarian dreams, to ensure that no man could place himself above the law. That system is only as strong as the people willing to defend it.
The contrast between the puffed-up procession and the quiet defiance alongside it captures a pivotal moment in American life: one side craving spectacle, the other demanding substance.
What deepens the urgency of this moment are the real-world consequences of power abused. Consider the coordinated ICE raids carried out under Trump's orders, targeting immigrant communities with a show of force that tore families apart in broad daylight. These were not acts of law and order; they were acts of fear and domination. Even more chilling was the deployment of U.S. troops and federal agents against American civilians protesting injustice in cities across the country. Tear gas and rubber bullets were fired at peaceful demonstrators, unmarked officers snatched people off the streets, and military helicopters hovered low over neighborhoods as a form of intimidation. These tactics are not American; they are antithetical to the values we claim to hold dear. They are the tools of regimes that view dissent as a threat rather than a right.
The symbolism of Trump’s parade is not incidental. One side wraps itself in the flag as costume: the other wraps itself in the Constitution as commitment.
Strongmen throughout history have used similar shows to send the same message: I am the nation, and the nation is strong because of me. It’s a dangerous myth. Nations are not strong because of parades. They are strong because their people are free. Because their laws are just. Because their institutions are intact. Because dissent is protected, not punished.
What we saw on the day of the parade was not simply protest versus celebration. It was the battle for America’s soul. One side celebrates the machinery of state without reckoning with the values it's supposed to defend. The other reminds us, imperfectly, urgently, that those values only survive if ordinary people are willing to stand up and say: we are citizens, not subjects.
The No Kings protesters understand something deeply American: that patriotism is not obedience. It is vigilance. It is asking hard questions, holding the powerful accountable, refusing to be dazzled by the trappings of dominance. In many ways, they represent the spirit of 1776 more than any choreographed march could ever hope to. They come not to burn it all down, but to rebuild what has been eroded by corruption, cynicism, and fear.
Critics will say they are angry. They are. Righteously so. They will say the movement is leaderless. That is its strength. They will say it lacks a singular message. But its unity comes from a simple truth: democracy cannot survive apathy, and authoritarianism feeds on silence.
To truly understand the meaning of these parallel events, the parade and the protests, we must ask ourselves what kind of nation we want to be. Do we want to be a nation where leaders are treated like monarchs, their critics branded as traitors, their failures excused, and their egos indulged? Or do we want to be a republic in the true sense, where power flows from the people, and where leadership is service, not spectacle?
There are moments in every democracy when the question is no longer left to future generations. It must be answered now. The rise of strongman politics is not a distant threat; it is already here. It wears a suit and tie. It speaks in familiar slogans. It waves the flag even as it dismantles the freedom the flag is meant to represent.
In this light, the No Kings movement is not merely opposition. It is preservation. It is continuity. It is the most American thing one can do: to stand against tyranny in defense of liberty. It may not come with medals or parades, but it carries something far more enduring, the hope of a country still worthy of its promises.
The “No Kings” message is still gaining ground. It echoes across protests, town halls, social media, and marches, not through top-down coordination but through shared conviction. The phrase welcomes and unites a broad coalition of Americans: progressives, moderates, disillusioned conservatives, young people, veterans, all united by the idea that the United States is never meant to have a king. America is born in rebellion against the very concept of one man having unchecked power.
So when the echoes of the parade fade, when the last jet passes overhead and the streets are swept clean of confetti and tire tracks, remember who stood where. One side marched because they were told to. The other gathered because they chose to. And that choice, made in parks and sidewalks and online threads, may be what saves this democracy.
Moments like this tell us who we are. There are no kings here. There must never be.
