I attended a small rural-town No Kings protest. I was reminded of something Ray Hill said at the Trans Unity Banquet in Houston. He said that all of those protests he helped organize, including the 1979 March on Washington, wasn’t about sending a message to anyone other than ourselves. He reminded us that Harvey Milk didn’t say “Organize, organize, organize!” He said, “Come out! Come out! Come out!”

As I was standing with more than 3,000 people in this small rural town to protest the grotesquerie that has desecrated every aspect of The People’s government, tears rolled down my face as I wept in both pain and joy. I’ve not felt this particular mix of emotions since the first time I walked in Pride in the 1990s. It’s the community-based recognition of both the pain and suffering imposed upon us, and a celebration of truth and love.

Fascists called millions of Americans coming together to celebrate US democracy a terrorist act aimed at promoting hate against the US. This is the same sort of thing bigots say about Pride and like Pride, it’s not about them. It’s about us.