The crowd cheered, pushing their signs toward the slate sky. There were no cops or counterprotesters, just a sizable chunk of the city’s population—and many, many dogs. Two men sporting round, tinted glasses and jean jackets littered with pins chatted as their protest signs leaned on their shoulders. “Trump’s already fucked our unions,” said Chuck Johnson, retired IBEW 1547 member and US military veteran. “Can’t imagine why Republicans support him.”

Protesters took up about three city blocks, shuffling back and forth from the stage on one end to the free soup stands on the other. Volunteers in highlighter-yellow vests carted around hot coffee and tea and directed traffic as the cars peppered the air with supportive honks. Volunteers collected donations to help supply winter gear for locals, as well as cash for communities recently devastated by Typhoon Halong in Western Alaska. A reporter for the local public radio station— still in business, for now—chased a story on those in inflatable costumes.

After three brief speeches, the local peace choir took charge with renditions of “Seize the Day” and “Bridge Over Troubled Water.” In the distance, recently elected Mayor Mindy O’Neall, who snagged the office after nearly a decade of Republican rule, posed for a picture with Alaska state Senator Scott Kawasaki and a sign that read “No Kings More Queens.”

A rhythm beat across the parking lot as Allyanne Lipkvich and Sabrina Heaven, with protest signs in one hand and reins in the other, rode their horses toward their trailers. Two younger horses led by a human in an inflatable dog suit followed behind. A stuffed husky was strapped to one of the saddles—a real dog-and-pony show.

“Even if protesting on a main street in Fairbanks isn’t going to change national policy,” said an advanced fighter avionics craftsman in the US Air Force who wanted to remain anonymous for fear of occupational retribution, “at least this makes us feel better.”

—Colin A. Warren, University of Alaska

Although the “No Kings” protests were expected to produce some of the largest local rallies in many years, I was eager to see how or if contemporary mass protests would evolve since the height—and ultimate failure—of the liberal resistance era during the first Trump administration. On a bright morning near Orlando City Hall, I was impressed by what I saw.

Instead of vague, platitude-filled speeches, socialist agitation and labor solidarity were at the forefront of the Florida protest. The lineup of speakers included members of the Democratic Socialists of America, the Party for Liberation and Socialism, and other grassroots organizations giving participants actionable steps to curtail the billionaires and their oligarchy, to personally escalate from protesting to noncooperation, and, notably, to hold both Republican and Democratic politicians accountable for our broken political system. Ending the genocide and apartheid in Palestine was a common refrain among speakers, prompting many of the loudest cheers.

Across the crowd itself, organizers—belonging to organizations like the Florida Youth Action Fund and Sunrise Movement—were hard at work canvassing for the “Students Rise Up” campaign, a nationwide effort led by students to demand that colleges and high schools reject the government’s attempts to dictate policies around curriculum, research, admission, free speech, and more. The groups collected signed “strike cards” from students and allies in attendance, serving as a pledge to join a nationwide day of coordinated protest on November 7. From there, protests will continue monthly, culminating in a mass mobilization on May Day 2026, when students will join workers to disrupt business-as-usual.

These organizers weren’t doing the work alone but in parallel with dozens of organizers across Florida—from Miami to Tallahassee, and from Tampa to Flagler Beach—“absorbing” thousands of first-time protesters at the No Kings event into their long-term movement of sustained mass noncooperation.

As the protest program came to a close, I watched the crowd join an event organizer in reciting revolutionary Assata Shakur’s mantra: “It is our duty to fight for our freedom. It is our duty to win. We must love each other and support each other. We have nothing to lose but our chains.”

—Cameron Driggers, University of Florida

Atypical fall Saturday in Alabama usually revolves around football. Instead, this week, hundreds sang “This Land is Your Land” in unison as they gathered in the blue dot of Birmingham to protest the Trump administration.

While the majority of the population of Alabama is conservative, everyone at the rally had one thing in common: a love for their country—despite the several Republican politicians referring to the protests as “Hate America” rallies. “I love the Constitution in this country almost as much as I love my own children,”” said Margaret Marston, who attended the protest. “What is happening now is just disastrous to me.”

The Birmingham event was one of more than a dozen No Kings rallies that took place across the state, where Trump received almost 65 percent of the votes in 2024, stretching from Huntsville down to Mobile.

Former US Senator Doug Jones spoke to the crowd on the importance of preserving democracy. “We’re here because freedom is a fragile thing, and it’s never more than a generation away from extinction,” he said.

Many signs at the rally were faith-based, as over 70 percent of adults in the state identify as Christian. “The Gospel I know welcomes immigrants,” one sign read. Hundreds of others quoted Bible verses and other Christian anti-Trump quotes.

Michele Thomas grew up in the Baptist Church. She said that there are a lot of “really good, kind-hearted” Alabamians who bring food when others fall ill, mow the grass for the widowed, and provide comfort during tragedies. She reflected on when America was a “kinder, more compassionate” country. “We love America, and we love Alabama,” she said “We just want to be our best selves.”

The rally concluded with a march around Railroad Park. Marchers chanted “Donald Trump has got to go!” and “We want trans rights now!” as they walked through downtown Birmingham.

“Our revolution did not happen overnight,” said Julie Conrady, minister of the Unitarian Universalist Church of Birmingham. “It started with op-eds, with protests, with preachers and politicians and people working together to create the change they wanted to see in the world.”

—Maven Navarro, University of Alabama

By 2 pm, around 50,000 No Kings protesters had shut down San Francisco’s Market Street—reaffirming the city’s status as a hub of progressive resistance.

Amid a sea of Star Wars and animal costumes, with signs reading “Worker Power” and “California Is Too Hot for ICE” and chants of “The people united will never be divided,” the march balanced the playful Bay Area eccentricity with their anger toward the Trump administration. Union members pointed to the defunding of public services and federal program cuts as direct threats to workers and the communities they serve. Public-sector organizers warned that shrinking budgets and corporate tax avoidance undermined wages, job security, and essential city services, while long-term care workers described how reduced federal support strained caregiving networks and left vulnerable residents without adequate assistance.

Shouting chants of “Beat back the Trump attack!” and “Fight back!,” protesters’ voices and the sounds of drums echoed off the towering buildings surrounding the main downtown street. The rally drew a coalition of more than two dozen organizations, including local unions, striking nurses, and progressive and socialist organizations. Together, these groups framed their resistance as a defense of both labor rights and the public good.

Notably, protesters of all ages—from organized coalitions of Bay Area grandmothers to students from local schools—expressed strong support for Proposition 50: California Governor Gavin Newsom’s controversial congressional redistricting plan to counteract Republican-led gerrymandering efforts in Texas. If passed, Proposition 50 would temporarily change California’s congressional map to favor Democrats in the upcoming elections. Already, California has been on the forefront of Democrats’ fight against the Trump administration.

Though the energy was upbeat and joyful, another tension underlined the march. In a Fox News interview that aired Sunday morning, Trump reiterated his plan to send in troops to San Francisco, emphasizing that it might be next on his list of Democratic-controlled areas where he was sending the National Guard. Around 2,000 people in the city have been kidnapped by ICE from January 20 to June 26. The Bay Area, home to large and long-standing Latino immigrant communities, felt the threat of increased enforcement especially sharply.

But young demonstrators emphasized the importance of showing up and building community solidarity in the Bay Area, highlighting how local activism strengthens collective action.

Grace Turner, a UC Berkeley senior and longtime community organizer, came to participate directly in the march rather than just work behind the scenes. “Before things like protesting get taken away from us, before things like voting is taken away from us, we might as well realize the resources we have.”

—Amara McEvoy, University of California, Berkeley

Alongside the anti-Trump signs outside Houston’s city hall were handmade posters aimed at Ted Cruz, Ken Paxton, and Greg Abbott. Parents pushed strollers, and children held cardboard signs. Keffiyehs and Mexican and American flags waved in the air. Conversations drifted from trans rights to immigration, from public education to storm relief, and nearly everyone complained about the heat, always adding, “in October.”

Phi, 36, a nurse and mother of a 7-year-old, said she hadn’t attended the first No Kings protest but made a point to come to this one, where an estimated 15,000 people were in attendance. “Since Covid, everything’s escalated, and we nurses were on the front line,” she said. But she wasn’t worried only about healthcare. She wanted her son to “see people fighting for something decent.”

For Barry, 42, coming to the protest was also about visibility, “showing that more people don’t agree with what’s going on than there are that support it.” During our conversation, Houston police approached him about his poster, which was fixed to a metal rod instead of wood. They told him he’d have to return it to his car before rejoining the crowd. “I should be able to protest where and how I want,” he said as he walked away.

Nearby, Veronica, 52, a lawyer, spoke with her friend Daisy, 43, who works in marketing. “We didn’t have a sign long enough to list everything,” Veronica said, laughing. Then she turned serious, naming cuts to education, healthcare, welfare, and women’s rights, along with anxiety about voting restrictions. She pointed to the Austin floods and Houston’s hurricane seasons as proof that slashed FEMA budgets are more than numbers. “Those things are life and death here.”

—Lajward Zahra, Rice University