“No Kings” Protest Returns as a Lovefest Among Thousands—Now, the Path Forward

No Kings was a joy-fueled gathering of 1,500+ friends and neighbors. And no wonder—everyone got their $1 million Soros stipend, right?

That’s the rumor, anyway. In reality, George Soros did not swim into Noyo Harbor, scale the bridge like a spry sea otter, or hand out hundred-dollar bills from a magic roll. But the love, generosity, and shared purpose? That part was real.

We showed up for each other. No kings, no gatekeepers—just a community that knows how to celebrate, organize, and move forward.

For the folks who showed up, what’s happening in the USA feels far more surreal than any Fox News made up stories about the 95-year old-Soros . The real absurdity isn’t the satire—it’s the state of things.

But for many friends and neighbors on the right, the only thing that seems outrageous is that anyone’s protesting at all. That disconnect is real. And it’s why gatherings like “No Kings” matter—not just for joy, but for clarity, courage, and connection to our beloved friends and neighbors who are so puzzled.

It’s a great divide of opinion, no doubt. But let’s step out into the rally, shoulder to shoulder, and see for ourselves: Are we really that far apart? Or is the story more complicated, more human, and more hopeful than the headlines suggest?

The protest itself? Delightfully wacky. Inflatable cartoon characters bobbed in the breeze, an Elvis impersonator crooned from the curb, two ten-foot rubber chickens loomed like sentinels of satire, and a jolly troubadour belted out “Yankee Doodle” from the center of the bridge.

It was the perfect silly rebellion anthem—cheeky in 1776, cheeky now. Back then, it mocked monarchy on behalf of silly common people. Today, it playfully defies the 40 million fans of big, big government on the right. The costumes may change, but the spirit of joyful dissent lives on.

“I counted 24 dogs, 1 Elvis, 2 Uncle Sams, 2 dinosaurs, 2 tacos and hundreds of happy, positive people being cheered by raucous auto horns. And Lots of laughter!,” one reader wrote me after the event. 

One shift this time: anonymity. Many of the same folks who went bare-faced at the last “No Kings” event showed up masked, quiet, and cautious. Some didn’t want to be photographed. Others avoided interviews.

It wasn’t fear—it was fatigue. A sense that the stakes have changed, that visibility now comes with risk. But even behind masks, the spirit was unmistakable: defiant, joyful, and deeply local.

One thing you won’t find at our local events? The venom that floods social media, cable news, and the influencer echo chambers.

Out here—face-to-face, on the bridge, in the plaza—people become polite Americans again. They listen. They laugh. They share snacks and stories.

The hate and division that’s tearing at our country doesn’t live in these gatherings. It lives in the scroll, in the comment thread, in the performative rage of screens.

But in person? We remember how to be neighbors.

Organizers of the big crowd were fierce this time—about one thing in particular: stay on the sidewalk.

They’d worked hard before, but this time, the tone was sharper. Anyone who strayed into the street got the swift sidewalk sermon. No exceptions.

It wasn’t hostility—it was stewardship. A mix of safety, permits, and the kind of logistical love that keeps a joyful rebellion from turning into a traffic jam.

The message was clear: dance, sing, wave your rubber chicken—but do it from the curb.

One of the biggest protests happened mid-summer and people did swell into the road, although not much different than tourists on a crowded weekend.

I got this message from a reader named Sally after the event:

“Thank you for your intelligent local reporting.  I always appreciate your stories.  It was a fun day today.  I was standing with my sign enjoying the beautiful weather when along came a handsome young man on roller blades and stopped to talk with me.  We were having a very engaging free range conversation about the state of the country when along came a woman with her young daughter.  She asked if I was the young man’s grandmother  (I could have been but wasn’t). and joined our conversation.  Then she asked him if he had a girlfriend and he said, “I wish!” whereupon she described her young single friend who she thought would be a great match.  He was very interested and she took his picture and texted it to her friend and they went off to make the introduction.  It felt so much that this was our “tribe”–people who love this country and don’t want to see it destroyed.  The love was palpable!”

Most of my replies were from happy people possessed by nothing more than a little sarcasm.

“It was like a family reunion with folks from Westport to Elk showing up in the fine California weather for camaraderie and shared disdain for the criminal bad actors corrupting our American way of life liberty and the persuit of happiness with Mendacious Avericious Grifting Anarchy *. Lots of young folks, who appreciated us Boomers still… for… Justice and Democracy.

  *Dictionary definitions : See also Trumpery … providence put that one in there !”

Nature brought its own punchline. At 11 a.m., it was hotter than July in West Texas—sun blazing, spirits high. But just after noon, Fort Bragg’s famously fickle fog made its grand entrance, swallowing the bridge whole like some Old Testament prophet had summoned it.

If Jeremiah or Habakkuk sent it, they must’ve had a quick errand in Willits, because the fog rolled in and out in under ten minutes—dramatic, chilly, and gone.

Funniest moment of the day? A pair of visiting revelers looked around in awe and asked, “Where did all this heavy smoke come from? Where’s the fire?”

No fire. Just coastal comedy, courtesy of Mendocino’s most theatrical weather system.

Among the many people I deeply respect who showed up at Saturday’s “No Kings” protest were Sue Magoo, Sherry Glaser, U’ilani Wesley, and Kay Rudin. Each of them is wildly different—from me, and from each other. And yet, I believe we still walk the same stretch of reality.

In a world turned upside down, it’s refreshing—reassuring, even—to see familiar souls still moving along what used to be common ground. Ground that’s now been rebranded, ridiculed, and labeled “woke” by millions.

But out here, it’s just the path we’ve always walked. With humor, with heart, and with a stubborn kind of hope.

The well-populated local right-wing community has been mostly bemused by these events—curious, but not confrontational. No counter-protests. No rudeness. Just a kind of puzzled distance.

Many express the same confusion that plenty of us feel: What is it all about??? It’s a fair question. But then come the social media distortions—the field of lies. A few folks have claimed that nobody protesting has a job. Which is laughable, especially here, where we know each other.

Most of the crowd may be over 70 and retired, but they work as hard now—as volunteers, artists, caregivers, and community stewards—as they did in their full-time years. And they do it with humor, grit, and a deep love for this place.

Reader MIchael H was dressed as a giant inflatable dragon.

“I went as a dragon, I spent 3 hours in character and met many others in inflatables. There was a very living, positive attitude by all in attendance. Maybe 4 cars total that passed had made hateful comments, but none in attendance seemed bothered by the effort. I felt very overheated at I or point and had left my water,  by people stopped and gave me peanuts and water. My slogans were simple and silly. Dragon melt ice, dragon eat king, dragon eat facist, dragon big, dragon small, scary antifa dragon, grrrrrr.  Overall, I believe the community came together well and a positive impact was made on many., Michael, Dragon Squad 1st class”

I spent two hours trying to shape a story from the “No Kings” event and ended up with a long, meandering tirade—more pontification than prose. Thankfully, the readers came to my rescue.

Their comments were sharp, funny, and full of heart. They reminded me why we do this: not to preach, but to listen, reflect, and build something better together.

Turns out, the best edits come from the crowd.

“Frank – I went and found it was a very peaceful yet politically charged gathering of many of this community who voiced their communal spirit in protest.  There were all ages, ethic represented as well as our canine friends – carried signs protesting all sorts of subjects from gay rights , immigration, no tyrannical rule, votes matter, vote yes on 50 and I love my country.   There were hand outs  of bumper stickers saying  “kindness matters”, peace pins, flyers about prop 50 which reminded me of the kindness and attitudes of the flower children of the 60s. All throughout was a spirit of joyous protest  which made me proud to be a part of this community, said Elizabeth Vrenios.

Fort Bragg’s “No Kings” protest drew somewhere around 2,000 people. That’s a drop in the bucket compared to the hundreds of thousands who marched in Chicago—but for a town our size, it was outsized, spirited, and deeply rooted.

It wasn’t about numbers. It was about presence. About showing that even in a small coastal community, people are paying attention, speaking up, and showing up.

“We met a couple from San Diego who were on vacation, had driven up from Pt. Arena, and had expected to find maybe 50 people in FB. Boy, were they surprised at the turnout! Well done!,” said reader Jean Arnold.

The slow defeat of empathy begins with the loss of human contact. When we stop looking each other in the eye, we stop seeing each other at all.

The erosion of science and wisdom hasn’t come from ignorance alone—it’s sprung from the egos of those sealed inside silent echo chambers. Places where self-appointed experts claim to know more than those who’ve spent lifetimes studying, building, and serving. And millions subscribe to their ramblings, mistaking volume for truth.

And yet, across the country, the protests were peaceful. No violence. No retaliation. Just people showing up—in person—to reclaim contact, clarity, and courage.

It’s a reminder: empathy isn’t dead. It’s just waiting for us to step outside, speak face-to-face, and remember how to be human again.

Reader Sojurna Lee reported “John and I were attending a memorial and a wedding in Arkansas. We joined a protest today at 9:30 AM in Rogers,  Arkansas. Considering the general political leanings of this state, it was a great turnout. Many people lined the street and were enthusiastic, while people were honking from their cars. It gives one a sense of hope.”

President Trump’s AI video response to the “No Kings” protests—depicting him as a crowned figure bombing critics with excrement—sparked widespread backlash, but for some, it marked a shift from grievance politics to theatrical provocation.

The video, shared on Truth Social, showed Trump flying a jet labeled “King Trump” and dropping brown liquid on demonstrators in Chicago, including one of his least favorite critics. It was part of a series of AI-generated media portraying Trump in regal attire, wielding swords, and receiving bows from political opponentsUSA Today. The soundtrack? “Danger Zone”—a nod to Top Gun bravado but the singer isn’t happy his work was sued..

This Trumpian response in kingly attire came after millions joined “No Kings” protests nationwide, with organizers calling it the largest single-day demonstration against a sitting president in modern history. Despite the scale, the protests remained peaceful, with no reported violence according to the The Independent | MSN.

For many, the video was disturbing—an authoritarian fantasy laced with mockery. But for others, including you, Linda, it felt like a break from the GOP’s long-standing posture of grievance and victimhood. You noted that while Reagan never resorted to such theatrics, the right has often framed itself as persecuted, especially when in power. This AI spectacle, however crude, seemed to flip that script—less wounded, more performative.

It’s a fascinating moment: where satire, propaganda, and digital spectacle collide. And it raises deeper questions about leadership, messaging, and the emotional tone of American politics. Is this a new chapter in political theater, or just another viral distraction?

It’s not all the fault of the phones—or Trumper Mark Zuckerberg, for that matter. Let’s be real.

The divide runs deeper than algorithms and screen time. There are real, substantial differences in how America is seen now compared to how many of us saw it growing up in the ’70s, ’80s, and ’90s.

Back then, civic pride didn’t mean blind allegiance. Dissent wasn’t branded as disloyalty. And facts—scientific, historical, lived—still held weight.

Today, the landscape feels warped. Truth is up for auction. Empathy is optional. And the loudest voices often come from the least informed.

But the roots of the shift go beyond tech. They’re cultural, generational, and deeply political. And if we want to find our way back to common ground, we’ll need more than just better apps—we’ll need better conversations.

Talking with Sue Magoo—draped in green as Lady Liberty herself, a departure from her usual Cat in the Hat flair—we found ourselves reflecting on the symbol she wore. The Statue of Liberty isn’t just a costume. It’s a promise. A poem. A declaration of welcome etched in bronze.

But let’s be honest: many in today’s GOP don’t believe a word of what’s written at her base. “Give me your tired, your poor…” doesn’t fit the narrative.

Among our friends and neighbors on the right, there’s a deeply held belief that America is—and should be—a country for and about white people, nuclear families, and Christian men in charge.

It’s not everyone. But it’s enough to shape policy, rhetoric, and the emotional tone of the nation. And it’s why symbols like Sue’s costume matter. They remind us what we’re fighting for: a country that lives up to its own words. 

As a married Christian white man, I find this horrifying. I was raised to believe Jefferson’s words—“all men are created equal”—meant something.

But that promise feels discarded, replaced by a system that keeps adding perks for the Lords and Ladies of government while everyday people get squeezed.

White men aren’t getting special treatment—we’re getting shorter lifespans, gutted health subsidies, and a return to the days when insurance cost more than your paycheck.

One thing we’ve lost is a defining trait of American character in battle. Historian Stephen Ambrose documented it well: U.S. soldiers would risk everything to save one wounded comrade. Other nations in WWII saw that as foolish. But for Americans, it was sacred.

That ethic—of no one left behind—used to come from the top. Now, it’s been replaced by a system where you buy your citizenship, become a billionaire, or you don’t count.

It’s a titanic shift. And like the Titanic, it’s headed down.

I still believe most troops would go back for each other. But that spirit no longer flows from leadership. It survives in spite of it.

A humble request to those who think immigration reform isn’t needed—just mass arrests. If you’re fine attacking working immigrants while ignoring the smugglers and employers who knowingly hire them, please watch Willie Nelson’s moving cover of the message at the base of the Statue of Liberty.

When funding for the statue’s pedestal fell short, New York World publisher Joseph Pulitzer offered to print the names of anyone who donated up to $1. Over 150,000 New Yorkers responded, raising $100,000—mostly in nickels, pennies, and quarters. Many didn’t even give their names.

That’s the America I still believe in: generous, humble, and welcoming—not punitive, performative, and cruel.

Willie Nelson – Living In The Promiseland (Official Video)

Most Americans now go along with the idea that environmentalism is unnecessary. Astonishgly foolish! I remember rivers on fire, the bald eagles dying from 20,000 to 400, poisioous Lake Erie, a poisonous Hudson River and smog.  I remember the acidic air burning my nose badly in Patterson, New Jersey.

But they have forgotten all this.  We just have to accept that somehow if we want to move forward.

The left now faces the most powerful president and the most intrusive federal government in U.S. history. And we have to face a hard truth: many of our own friends, neighbors, and childhood peers will choose big government over us, every time.

It’s baffling to those of us who never felt that strongly about any politician. But here we are.

All my life, if I saw something and reported it,  i believed most people would have seen pretty much the same thing, although they might disagree with my take.  And they did and do. 

But not when it comes to Trump. If I went to a basketball game and he was on the losing team, nobody would believe me—unless I rewrote the score so he won it all by himself.

That’s the world we’re in now. Narrative over reality. Ego over scoreboard.

Troops sent into cities with no cause beyond declining crime rates? You’d think people would be outraged. But no—all bets are off. For many, if Trump does it, it must be good.

That kind of “thinking” baffles me. Neither I nor anyone I saw Saturday ever treated Obama, Clinton, or any Democrat like that. And the GOP never did either—not with the Bushes, not with Nixon, not even with Reagan, who was nearly worshiped but insisted on reverence for the founders, democracy, and liberty.

Now? That reverence is gone. How did it vanish so fast? How could rude, crude and illmannered bullying have become the thing that America’s upper classes now adore and emulate?

I think of the ancient parable of the blind men describing an elephant—each touching a different part, each convinced they understood the whole. The man with the tusk couldn’t reconcile with the one holding the tail.

But this time, we’re not blind. Millions of us see the same elephant.

The tragedy? The elephant can’t find itself in the room.

It’s lost in distortion, denial, and a system that refuses to name what’s right in front of us.

Plato’s cave fits too well. A prisoner escapes the dark, sees the sun, the sea, the stars—and when he returns to lead others out, they call him mad and chase him away. No such reality could exist.

That’s the darkness gripping our friends and neighbors. Chasing out workers we need, scorning people for how they love, and denying life-saving care so the rich can get more tax cuts.

As a reporter, I stayed politically neutral for over 30 years—until Trump. When the world tipped into madness, I dropped the conservative restraint and joined the radicals.

The right has no true conservatives left. And the left, reacting to the chaos, has grown less conservative too.

There’s only one way forward: go back to face-to-face.

Turn off the influencers you’ve never met—left, right, all of them. Stop shopping on Amazon. Do with less. Meet your neighbors in the street.

Love Main Street again. Forget the billionaires—filthy or aged.

Find your heroes in your church, your school, your hospital, your city hall. Flush the rest.

Turn off the phone for an hour. Then two. Then three.

Start living here again.

Kay Rudin played music with old friends. Sherry Glaser, ever the queen of intelligent drama and humor struck a humorous pose for the camera. For a minute, all was like it was 2015.

The thing is, we are all blessed by my Lord or whoever or whatever  you attribute it to beyond belief. We live in Paradise. American life is still much easier and safer than anything our forefathers could have dreamed of. Why must we have such, dark, hateful views of others when we live in such blessed times?

Organier Cynthia Gair described the event: “Peaceful, lawful, no “incidents” that amounted to anything. We’ve got a variety of counts coming in but definitely more than at June No Kings – probably in the 2000 to 2500 range (though we did have someone count 3000). A very exuberant, creative, determinedly patriotic crowd at No Kings Mendocino Coast!”

There were 2,600 protests in 2,600 cities nationwide this time—up from about 2,000 in June. But like everything on the Mendocino Coast, ours was rated a hard G: family values stronger than Disneyland, with kids, elders, dogs, and dignity all present.

Elsewhere, things got wilder. Here, the boldest moment came from one trans activist who went topless in quiet defiance. It was peaceful, spirited, and unmistakably local.

Protesters also raised $875 for the Mendocino Chapter of Indivisible—proof that even in rebellion, we give.

And maybe that’s the point. In a time of digital distortion and political theater, we showed up in person. We sang. We laughed. We stayed on the sidewalk. We saw the elephant. We remembered the sun.

We turned off the noise and turned toward each other.

That’s how you build a movement. That’s how you reclaim a country. That’s how you love a place.