U.S. Army 250th Anniversary Parade

While my political kin went to the No Kings protests last Saturday, I attended Donald Trump's military parade. This is what I found.

Dear Conservative Friend,

While most of my political kin attended the No Kings protests on Saturday, I decided (weeks ago) to attend the U.S. Army 250th Anniversary celebration in DC this past weekend instead. You might be as surprised by this as I was! I say I decided to attend, but it’s more accurate to say I was inexorably compelled to be there. I don't know how to explain that, really, except to say I’ve experienced this before amid a creative project. The muse whispers, I ignore her, then she whispers more loudly until I understand and accept the assignment. Which, in this case, was attending Donald Trump’s military parade.

It was a curious assignment, honestly, and not one I accepted readily or willingly. I’m a Quaker pacifist at heart. The thought of watching huge tanks roll down Constitution Avenue isn’t my idea of a good time, necessarily, and I had visions of an authoritarian display of military power, North Korea style. I thought I was going to bear witness. I also thought I was going to hear President Trump speak, this man who has been so terrible and consequential in my lifetime (IMHO). Also, for once, I wanted to be able to write from experience—from having been there. I wanted to compare my experience with what I read in the news and on social media.

My son lives in DC right off DuPont Circle, so it was an easy walk down to the mall. Easy, that is, if you don’t mind walking in what essentially amounts to an outdoor sauna. I honestly think DC is more humid than Tennessee, which is unfortunate for DC.

I wasn’t exactly sure where I was going – I had a vague but non-specific idea, which seemed to be about what everyone else had, including law enforcement. A shrug, along with “Follow the crowd,” was the best advice I got, and I got it way more than once.

The No Kings movement decided very intentionally not to protest in DC on the day of the parade, but I saw two other groups of protesters along the route. The first was made up of scrappy, well-meaning young people who were fervent in their opposition to President Trump, the war in Gaza, and mass immigration. I cheered them on. The second group I came across seemed far less well-meaning. There were ten or so of them with crude signs, yelling at anyone willing to engage them. Except for two men wearing MAGA t-shirts and clearly looking for trouble, almost no one was.

As for the event itself? It turns out that America doesn’t do authoritarian parades. We just don’t have it in us, it would seem. I missed most of the parade itself (more on that in a moment), but what I did see reminded me of a fairly typical Veterans' Day parade on a much larger scale. At no point did the event have a Dear Leader vibe.

On my side of the divide, much is being made of the smaller-than-expected crowds. There is a now-familiar clip of a huge tank lumbering by nearly empty bleachers. Left-leaning social media gleefully posts and reposts the clip, proclaiming the event a major let-down. But the clip doesn’t tell the whole story.

As it turned out, thousands of would-be parade watchers didn’t make it onto the grounds in time to fill those bleachers. I know, because I was among them. This happened mainly because it was decided, at the last minute, that the parade would start at 6:00 instead of 6:30 for fear of rain.

We did make it through security in time to hear President Trump speak on the ellipse, however, and there, the crowd was thinner. The news reported that people left “en masse” after the parade and before the Vice President and President spoke, and I can report that this is true. There was a massive log jam trying to get onto the ellipse itself because so many people were leaving. This was nerve-wracking. I was disappointed about missing the parade, but I would have been crushed had I missed hearing the President speak.

In the end, I made it fine, just as the Vice President was introducing Donald Trump, who went on to speak for ten or so minutes. His speech was far less flamboyant than usual, and he stayed on script. It’s possible a bigger, rowdier crowd might have inspired a different speech, but it’s just as likely the President recognized the importance of the event and behaved accordingly, which I was certainly not expecting. When I rewatched my videos later that evening, he sounded almost affectionate, proud of our armed forces, to my ear. His speech had some weirdly violent lines, so far as I was concerned, but other people laughed and cheered at the lines I found weirdly violent. (I say that with no animosity that there are reasons this isn’t my tribe.)

There were videos honoring the army, musical performances (including the obligatory “I’m Proud to be an American,” by Lee Greenwood), and fireworks. Then it was over.

Earlier in the evening, when I’d left my son’s apartment and made my way down to Constitution Ave, I called my husband Jim. “If something happens to me,” I’d said, “trust it was my time to go.” It was a strange and macabre thing to say, but that was how inexorably I felt compelled to be there. I’ve learned to trust such things. When my muse nudges me in a particular direction (or shoves me down 18th Ave, as the case may be) what choice do I have? I go where I’m led. Someone has to bear witness, I initially thought, believing I knew what my muse had in mind. I expected to feel heavy and sad, and to write, dutifully, about my heaviness and my sadness.

Instead, I had a good time. Muses are funny like that, I suppose.

I enjoyed the evening with your tribal kin, friend; walking together, sweating together, trying to figure out which direction to go together, feeling sad we missed the parade together…

Interestingly, the event was surprisingly multicultural. I saw very few black people (for good and understandable reasons), but there were almost as many brown people as white, and I was surrounded by families speaking different languages. This surprised me (and it should inform all of us). When I got back to my son’s place that night, I had an interesting conversation about this with him and his girlfriend, who is of Korean descent.

I was clearly not with my tribe. Trump supporters are, of course, conservative; conforming and compliant, comparatively. It was fascinating to be in a sea of them. I wasn’t entirely comfortable; it was a bit like being in a foreign land. But I never felt uncomfortable, either. Everyone was reserved and polite. No one talked much, even as we waited in line together for an hour. I was among parents who parent traditionally, and patriots who value well-behaved patriotism. This crowd accepted disappointment stoically. When it was announced that we’d missed the parade, frustration was extreme, but I didn’t hear one person do more than mutter under their breath as we all kept moving forward.

All in all, it was a vivid reminder that the picture I have in my mind of the average Republican or Trump supporter is shaped for me by the media, and it is often wrong. We see the outrageous politicians or news pundits, or crude, screaming protestors, and this becomes our image of folks on the “other side.” This happens for you, too, friend, and we both must guard against it. We must intentionally cross the divide, often, if only to remind ourselves that we are not as different as we are led to believe. Even though it shouldn’t have been – even though I consider myself a political bridge-builder – I can’t tell you what a stark reminder this was to me. The bubble is real.

Had you gone to a No Kings protest, you likely would have had a similar experience. You would have been surrounded by families, children, and kind people. Less conforming and more extroverted than the crowd you’re used to, perhaps, but kind. Of course you might, if you were in the right place at the right time, see small pockets of angry agitators, and if you attend a protest born of rage and fear (mass deportation, say), you might, if you were in the right place at the right time, see cars on fire (and there, you’d see tv cameras). But witnessing the inevitable violence and looting that comes with big, sustained protests isn’t actually likely. One can put all that in perspective if one turns off the news and gets out in the actual world. Take LA, for instance. Mid-sized protests, giving rise to small (but heinous) acts of violence, offer right-wing media all the fodder it needs to convince Americans that “LA is on fire.” It’s a ridiculous notion, given that three million people live in LA, the vast majority of whom wouldn’t have known protests were happening at all had they not turned on the news. But the story of violent, radical, leftist thugs contained just enough proof to give it legs, and was twisted and repeated until the overall false narrative took hold.

Back to DC for one last observation: There was certainly an undercurrent of fear there, as there always is, now. I can’t tell you how many quiet comments and understated jokes I heard about guns and shooters. I can tell you that at every point during the night, I had an escape plan just in case, and I’m sure I wasn’t alone in that. I know it was the same at every No Kings protest around the country. (Prayers for Utah’s Ah Loo, who leaves behind a wife and two young children.) This is the wrenching, inescapable reality in America just now; guns and the looming potential of mass casualties are as American as apple pie.

Political violence aside, my main takeaway from last weekend was the clear reminder that most Americans, both those who lean right and left, are far, far less politically engaged than you and I. It’s important to remember this. Most Americans have their heads down as they work hard to put food on the table and raise their children. Most Americans are struggling financially, at least on some level. In election season, they absorb as much information as they can in as little time as possible so they can vote for whoever seems most likely to dump water out of their sinking economic ship. (An overall robust American economy doesn’t help these folks at all, in any meaningful way.) These are the folks who voted for Obama (twice), then Trump, then Biden, then Trump again. For most of them, the political circus is distasteful, and they avoid it almost entirely, which means that racism, misogyny, the obscene transfer of wealth, the gutting of the Federal Government, and, finally, the truth, are lost in the noise. Obviously, I’ve put my spin on this, but you see my point. We might not like this lack of political engagement, but it is the reality.

On both sides, those of us who do pay attention to the news tend to vilify folks who vote differently than we do. We get wind of the fact that “they” are (Biden)(Trump) supporters, and we assume they are racist, or “baby killers,” or traitors, or (pick-your-horrible), when in fact, most of them are good, law abiding, non-political Americans just trying to get through the day. We are not enemies, one way or another. We cannot allow politicians and news pundits to convince us otherwise.

This past weekend, I spent one lovely (if humid) evening with a bunch of Trump-loving folks, all of whom hope against hope that he will somehow make their lives a little better and their children a little safer.

I detest this President, as you know. As you also know, I’m a lefty pacifist. Military parades are not my thing. But you know what is my thing? Celebrating the life of a young American soldier while standing next to his mom and dad, even if – especially if – they cast a vote last November that was different than mine. (Not for nothing, this seems a much better place from which to launch an issues-oriented discussion at some point, yes?)

As I’ve said repeatedly, a commitment to kindness and civility in no way means we have to water down our deeply held beliefs. It doesn’t mean we don’t get angry. It doesn’t mean I can’t reserve the right to hate men and women who misuse great power, and it certainly doesn’t mean I won't fight like hell to vote them out of office when the time comes. I’ll be back at the No Kings protest next time, and I’ll keep writing these letters in an effort to keep the lines of communication open, call attention to very real democratic backsliding, and do what little I can to protect vulnerable individuals and communities in these cruel times.

But I won’t stay landlocked on my side of the political divide. I’ve been building this bridge for a long time. This past weekend, I marched right across it and landed in a sea of Trump supporters.

The water was churning, but it was also fine.

It was better than fine.

Wild hope,

Sara