Cause Play

What's on my mind, you ask?

 

No, not you in particular. The generic you. The randomly assigned faceless Facebook prompt that appears and never sticks around for the answer. That you. I'd tell you, but I don't feel I know you well enough. I just wanted to post something, and right now I'm in the process of whittling down my readership by committing a series of Facebook faux pas.

 

1. No pic (immediate scroll past)

 

2. Multiple paragraphs (too long, didn't read)

 

3. Objectionable, opinionated content warning: I will say something political at some point, and this will drive some of you to scroll, eye-roll or tsk, because, sure, we've all become exhausted, and some will outright protest the idea with a quick flick of the finger.

 

4. I don't really have a fourth point, other than to ensure that this extends beyond the (more...) thingy, where you are forced to commit to looking at the rest of the text. I am making you complicit, so you can no longer blame me for something that you are forced to see because your algorithm has fed it to you. This is you taking the spoon into your own hands.

 

5. I just wanted to get to five because it sounds dramatic. Like George C. Scott in Dr. Strangelove.

 

OK. No more bullet points. For now.

 

So yesterday, I attended the No Kings protest in Marysville. It's not my town exactly, but it was the closest organized event in my area.

 

As I was getting ready to leave, putting on sunscreen, thinking about what snippy protest T-shirt I would wear, I had a thought that stopped me cold:

 

"Who am I protesting for? What is the purpose of me showing up and standing on a corner holding a sign?"

 

My answer to myself was this:

 

1. I'm unhappy with what I perceive to be a very disagreeable and dire state of affairs with regard to my government, and I wish to make my grievances known.

 

2. I want to connect with like-minded folks and validate their concerns, as well as having mine validated. "Am I the only one who thinks this shit is crazy? Oh, you do too? Oh, good!" There's some comfort in commiseration.

 

3. (This one is the one that stopped me from wearing the snarky T-shirt.) I want to convince some of the otherwise unconvinced that might pass by and see our little protest that we are not "the other guys," like some politically partisan football team comprised solely of radicals, leftists and lunatics. I may identify that way, but it doesn't mean I always have to dress the part.

 

OK, abandoning the numerical points again. Too restrictive.

 

So, my thinking was this: 

 

"If I can be the face of someone that the average person in my area can relate to rather than rage against, it might go a long way towards bridging the gap between us as humans."

 

With this in mind, I put on a plaid button down shirt and donned a white Justin cowboy hat. If someone is going to judge me by appearances, let me take advantage of the local bias towards a conservative, country look with some appropriate attire. (The hat also happened to be the best choice for sun protection, so maybe those country folk are onto something.) Nice, breathable straw, good shade coverage, no red neck here. I did not regret my choice.

As I stood there in the sun holding my sign, I would direct my message to the passing motorists. On one side, it read, "SILENCE IS CONSENT." (I wanted it to say, "Silence Is Complicity," but space was limited on the poster board by the size of the font.) The other side said, "Let's Build A Better World Together," written in red and blue stenciled letters filled in with stripes and circles and wavy patterns. I would alternate between the two messages depending on the amount of traffic and their responses.

 

I would say that a reaction was elicited in about 65-70% of the people driving by. Of those who honked or waved or yelled, about 90-95% expressed support or positivity. Occasionally, someone would honk and get our attention, only to flip us off at the last minute, like, "Haha, gotcha!" Those comprised only about 3-5% of the honks and hand gestures.

 

There were a number drivers of lifted diesel pickup trucks (the kind with big pipes and smoky black exhaust) that took delight in revving their engines and "coal-rolling" the crowd. One could almost predict which ones they would be by vehicle profile alone, although the presence of a Trump flag virtually assured it. I wasn't out there to persuade them, appeal to them or make them like me. But again, seeing me, someone who looked like a guy they might invite to to go bass fishing, may given them just the slightest pause.

 

The biggest pause came when I was sitting down on by the curb, the "SILENCE IS CONSENT" side of my sign facing a line of vehicles stopped at the traffic light. This was the moment for which I had prepared, and it is the reason I am even responding to the generic Facebook prompt today, just to get to this part:

 

In one of the stopped cars, a guy in the passenger seat -- mid 20s, short hair, wearing a baseball cap that had the Stetson logo on it -- was looking around at the various signs, and I could just tell he was trying to process everything. After a few dismissive glances down the row, he landed on me and my sign. We locked eyes. He looked down at my sign and then back up at me, and I could see him give just the slightest nod as he tightened his lip in affirmation.

 

I did it. I got through to him. I wasn't chanting a slogan or reading from the Declaration of Independence. He didn't give his heart to Jesus (or take it back, whatever the case may be) but he did see me.

 

As a human being. As someone like him.

 

And as someone who cared enough to come out and say, "Hey, we've got to do something about this, y'all."

 

That's what I did on Saturday. Not much, but also, more than I expected. I hope that you all had good Saturdays, whatever that entails, and to whatever extent that is possible depending on your individual circumstances. 

 

Bless you all, Friends!

 

 

**Facebook re-post from June 15, 2025