“Peaceful protest is as democratic as it gets”
On a cold, sunny Saturday on March 28 in Milford, Delaware, the No Kings protest site is mostly empty just before the official 9 a.m. start time. But as if on cue, a throng of people bearing signs and small American flags begin emerging from cars into the shopping plaza parking lot, collecting along the nearby highway in the biting wind.
Milford is a small but rapidly growing city of more than 11,000 in the southern part of the state. Delaware is solidly blue—whether or not Joe Biden is running for president—but the further south you go, from the urban north, the more quickly it turns purple and then red. People not from Delaware sometimes express incredulity that the state is large enough for a cultural divide, but its southernmost county, Sussex, is far more rural and has been solidly Trump country despite the state’s Democrat-dominated General Assembly. The farming industry here also draws heavily on migrant workers, some permanent and others on temporary work visas.
Despite the agitated tenor of the demonstrators’ signs, the atmosphere at the morning’s protest is cheerful and upbeat. By 10 a.m., the crowd is about 170 strong, stringing out along a strip of chain stores that include a Starbucks and a Chick-Fil-A.
Signs wave at the passing traffic on Route 113, a main north-south thoroughfare, with messages like, “The Constitution is not optional,” “All of my outrage can’t fit on this sign,” “Fight fascism,” and of course, many variants of “No kings.”
Passing vehicles frequently wave back and honk support, but some of the area’s Trump supporters make themselves known as well.
“Hey, we got our first ‘Number 1,’ ” a protester jokes, alluding to a passing middle finger flashed at protestors.
“Go home, you idiots!” one man yells out the window across six lanes of traffic, to cheers and jeers from the protesters. “Asshole,” one says. Another protester reports seeing a driver giving a middle finger while his passenger slouched down and shielded their face, apparently not on board with the sentiment. One passing driver attempts to juggle controlling a large U-Haul truck and take a photo of the protesters.
The reaction from passing vehicles was about 90% positive, says Bob Stone, a 76-year-old former aircraft mechanic originally from the Denver area, who moved here to be close to his grandkids. He lives in Seaford, a slightly smaller city to the southwest and one more firmly in red Sussex County. “I used to go to Seaford [to protest], but there was only a neighbor of mine and me, and that was it,” he says.
According to The Guardian, more than 8 million people came to protest at more than 3,300 No Kings events across the U.S. and in more than a dozen countries. Organizers estimate nearly half of the No Kings events were held in traditionally “red” or battleground states, with many in rural areas.
Saturday’s No Kings crowd in Milford was about four times the size of the usual sign-waving group that has been gathering here, he estimates. Stone has been protesting Trump since 2016, and bears a sign reading, “Make ‘1984’ fiction again.” “We’re not going to lose our democracy,” he says, “and peaceful protest is as democratic as it gets. Get on your soapbox and you can voice your opinion.”
Stone knows first-hand that voters make mistakes. “I may be one of the few that voted for Nixon and admit it,” he says good naturedly. “I didn’t vote for him the second time.”
Milford resident Mary McGraw, a retired social studies teacher, identifies herself as a descendant of Patrick Henry (seventh great-grandfather), the Revolutionary orator famous for saying, “Give me liberty or give me death.”
She is concerned about the future of her children and grandchildren. She thinks Donald Trump is taking powers a president never should have, exactly the kind of abuse that drove her famous ancestor to be an anti-Federalist. “I think that our forefathers foresaw this,” she says. “They anticipated what was going to happen. And I’m glad to see all these people out here taking a stand.” Her sign reads, “Stop the cruelty. Stop the chaos. Stop the corruption.”
The demographics of the crowd skew older, almost all retirement aged. One exception is Brayden Shockley, age 20, from the nearby town of Felton. “Everybody’s got jobs,” he says, describing one obstacle to young people demonstrating. He also notes that the lack of youth might have something to do with the southern Delaware location. (One young man shouting from the window of a passing car seemed to be distinctly on the other side of the divide.)
“I just think it’s really important to fight for what you think is right,” Shockley says. “There’s a lot going on in this country, and it’s going to affect young people the most. So I really feel like it’s important for people in my generation to come out here and protest.”
His sign reads, “A president shouldn’t divide his people.” Politics has become toxic, Shockley says, and Trump is fueling the fire.
— Andrew Sharp
Saturday’s No Kings rallies—the third of Trump’s second term—were the largest yet. Just as important as the big city protests that drew millions of resolute Americans were the rallies in small towns and rural communities scattered across the country.
On Friday, March 27, community members in Albert Lea, Minnesota—a small, increasingly diverse town of 18,000 that is 90 minutes south of Minneapolis—held a sign making party at the Union Center in preparation for their No Kings rally the next day. Topics ranged from the march’s theme (“No Kings” and “Save Democracy”), to recent events (“No ICE, No War”), to the perennial favorite (“Do Not Panic: Organize”) to everything in between.
The next morning, the sign-makers are joined by an estimated 300 neighbors in the town’s largest protest yet of community members frustrated with what is happening in our country. They take to the streets knowing 60% of their neighbors in Freeborn County, where Albert Lea is the county seat, voted for Trump in 2024. Mary, one of the lead organizers, starts the rally explaining how the arrival of Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) agents in town affected the community. ICE “brought fear to our community,” she says. “People were not able to go to work. Some businesses needed to close for a few days,” impacting their livelihood and the local economy.
First-time No Kings demonstrators in the crowd, included Joel, a retired grandfather. His family members in Minneapolis were directly affected by the ICE surge there. “What the federal government is doing, it’s just not how we’re supposed to treat each other,” he says, adding that the cost of the war in the Middle East and increased funding to ICE as other reasons for showing up.
Also attending is self-described, lifelong peace activist, Tom Hansen, who spent the rally sitting in a folding chair holding an American flag. “I love America,” he says, as the speakers lead chants of “no war” while the cars driving by honk in support.
About 40 miles down the highway, in Mason City, Iowa, organizers of North Iowa Fights Back are kicking off the town’s rally and march. North Iowa Fights Back is a woman-centered group that organically grew out of the concern for each other and for other marginalized community members after the 2024 election. In that election, Cerro Gordo County, Iowa, where Mason City is the county seat, swung 55% in favor of Trump.
In addition to organizing community-wide rallies and raising money to support members of the community in need, the group activates people to participate in civic life. “Voting is your super-power,” rally emcee Tiff Mussman, points out as the League of Women Voter volunteers in the crowd get ready to register people on the voter rolls then and there.
Like in Albert Lea, the event attracts a variety of people. Labor union members are there, as are people newer to the resistance. One older woman sports a red handknit tasseled hat that has become a sign of the resistance. She begins to choke up when this Barn Raiser reporter asks her why she showed up to the rally. One of her first reasons: “My father served in the Navy in the South Pacific. He was willing to give his life to fight against what is happening right now,” she says quietly. “Now I’m afraid for my kids and grandkids.”
While many in the crowd show up to stand against “all of it,” the signs reflect the weight of what people are concerned about. “Be truthful! No more lies! Enough!” “The files aren’t in Iran,” “I need to be able to tell my children I did not stay silent,” and “They want to mold America to their cruelty.”
The mood was somber. Then the Singing Resistance began and the rally attendees began to march out of the park, bringing the message of hope, joy and community empowerment out into the world.
— Cara Letofsky
Born and raised in southern Delaware, Andrew graduated from The Ohio State University in 2008 with a bachelor’s in journalism and a minor in Spanish. He lived in Ohio for a number of years and then moved with his wife to Sussex County, Delaware, with two sons, two dogs and two cats, on an acre of ground that is running out of spots to plant new trees.
Cara Letofsky is a community-builder to her core, and has spent the past 20 years working in the Minneapolis-St. Paul area at the intersection of community organizing and policy-making. She is the author of the Substack Field Notes from America.
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