Fight the Power, But Make It Sparkle

A red state resistance story

We knew counter protesters were coming. I kept my eye on the road, vigilant.

I live in red, MAGA-happy Alaska. When I saw the wall of people swarming our protest, the fear took over. These must be the counter protesters, I thought. They kept coming and coming.

But no, they were joining the resistance! Downtown Juneau, a strong arts community, remains a progressive bubble, despite the state’s reputation.

Eight counter protesters showed up to the No Kings rally last weekend, but stood on the bridge, peering down at us and holding American flags. As were the rest of us. They just looked like part of our group. I think it might’ve backfired on them, lol.

The No Kings protest at Whale Park last Saturday. Picture by Katie Bausler.

The people who showed up, they showed up for each other. They came for their kids and grandkids, their friends and family in the queer community, their Black and Indigenous friends and family, their disabled loved ones. Sometimes it’s easier to fight for loved ones than to fight for yourself.

They knew there was a chance of violence and they showed up anyway. Nationally, it was 13.4 million. In Juneau, it was 2,000, or 6% of the community. That’s courage. That’s love.

No shots were fired, but bubbles were launched. Even the whale showed up for democracy. By far, it cemented itself as the most picturesque protest ever, by the ocean, sun warming our pasty skin. Did I mention it’s been 40° and raining for the last eight months?

The hope took root in our bones as my friends and I led the crowd dancing and singing down Egan highway blasting protest songs off like a bunch of sparkly Pied Pipers. (The wagon carried the party rocker.)

I will never forget the feeling of marching by the water, the sun sparkling off our sequins, an ocean breeze in our faces as we strut-danced to Public Enemy’s “Fight the Power” with massive foam fingers and Weimar-era red wigs, leading a trail of glorious, courageous humans toward the revolution.

A guy in a pickup truck rolled down his window and gave me an exaggerated thumbs down. But because of our sequins and heart sunglasses and dance moves and music, he smiled while doing so.

And because I was vibing, I replied: "I still love you!"

We need new tools to build new houses. Subvert the narrative — “flip it on ‘em,” like Busta Rhymes says. Trickster energy. “Woof ‘em and spoof ‘em,” as they say in classroom management school.

Josephine Baker used her talent and fame as a spy for the French resistance during WW2. She attended parties and diplomatic functions, eavesdropping on Nazi conversations, and smuggled notes and secret messages written in invisible ink on her sheet music or pinned inside her underwear.

They throw bombs, we blow bubbles. They bring fear, we bring music. They fight, we dance.

How do I keep marinating in this feeling, create new neural pathways as a creek channels new grooves through the soil so I can return to those grooves when fear takes over? How do we hold onto the strength to march into revolution with joy and badassery?

“Flower Power” by Bernie Boston

They say I'm naïve. They're right. It's a privilege to live outside the primitive lizard brainstem and basal ganglia, to feel safe enough to use logic, reason, and rational thought. To see nuance and shades of gray. To feel safe enough to speak your mind and show up at a protest, trusting that you will walk away unharmed and free. It's a privilege to be naïve, to trust others, to feel safe enough to open your heart.

The alternative is to reach for control. Control masked as religion. Control masked as discipline. Control masked as love. Control masked as Bible verses (e.g. “Spare the rod, spoil the child.” The shepherd's rod was used as a guide, not for violent discipline.)

It’s a privilege that, in lieu of a scarcity mindset, we can hold one of abundance, trusting that there will be enough resources to share. To replace our need to control and dominate with one of curiosity and compassion.

Everything starts local, in the family—even politics. If you grow up in a functioning authoritarian home, where the head of the household exerts discipline through control and violence, where religion is taught via stories of fear, and compliance is rewarded with love and attention, it would naturally follow that these children grow up to love a more authoritarian governance.

Studies suggest that individuals who experienced authoritarian parenting styles may be more likely to favor authoritarian systems of government as adults. This inclination is often linked to a sense of comfort with hierarchy and obedience instilled during childhood.

I experienced this firsthand by teaching at Montessori where I used a more democratic method of instruction. I invited students to help me form the curriculum and the content. Students who had not grown up in the Montessori system were visibly uncomfortable and agitated. They did not feel safe with such norms.

Democracy is awkward. Look at any board, where multiple people make decisions. It’s time consuming and often leads to bickering. “Seems it’d be easier if just one person made all the decisions,” my husband once remarked.

It's important to keep this in mind when looking at those who stubbornly cling to their beliefs. Those beliefs are intertwined with their very identity, their sense of self, and what it means to be safe.

This is why I meant it when I told that truck driver I loved him. Hell, I'm even married to a guy like that. We can love people who think differently than I do. Empathy is radical.

“Without community, there is no liberation...but community must not mean a shedding of our differences, nor the pathetic pretense that these differences do not exist.” –Audre Lorde

If we proved one thing, it's that we have more fun than the fascists. And better music. We need to continue making our protests more fun, as Black and Brown communities figured out long ago.

We need our village

There is no liberation without community. The #1 safeguard in developing resilience in children is having an adult who is consistently there for them—and adults need this, too. PTSD sets in when we don't have someone to sit with us in our pain, to hear us when we feel alone.

The collective resistance we experienced Saturday was exactly the buffer we needed. Even for those who don't have the privilege and ability to attend protests, hopefully they feel buffered and less alone as well. Now when I hear about the possible imminence of WW3 or any other existential threat, instead of resorting to terror and fear like normal, I feel a sense of calm and groundedness because I know there is community standing with us.

I am not alone. We are not alone. We/us pronouns from now on. We got this, baes.

We're gonna bring our fun. Our fierce. Our talents. Our playlist. Our sparkle.

Subvert this narrative. Flip it on them, FlipMode squad, like Busta Rhymes. We're gonna laugh. We're gonna dance.

This is the revolution, y'all. Loki, Raven, and Coyote, let’s go.

Let’s. Go.

~Summer

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