Memorial Day was a big deal when I was a child. I was born 15 years after World War 2 ended and 7 years after the Korean War ended. Both, especially World War 2, were still very present in the collective memory. The Vietnam War informed my childhood and early teens. So when we gathered for Memorial Day, the shared acknowledgement of war, loss, grief, and sacrifice was palpable. It breathed just below the surface of our skin.
I still remember the energy of these somber celebrations. The potency of that memory is in the collective gathering for something that matters. It mattered that lives were lost. It mattered that families still missed their loved ones. It mattered that it was a tense, scary time for our communities.
My mom was born in 1928 and lived through the Great Depression and the Second World War. I always imagined the Depression was the most difficult time for her, especially given how financially impoverished her family was. But just before she died, she told me it was World War 2. It bothered her that it was being forgotten as it receded to a farther past of U.S. history. It saddened her that people were too busy, distracted, disinterested in such an impactful and formative time for the country she loved, to continue honoring it communally.
Those annual times of strong togetherness are visceral memories. I’ve only recalled them recently, when I joined rallies and protests in support of our rights—once fought for and oft preserved—that have been so constant. Losing them is unimaginable. And we are losing them.
When I protested in my younger years, I did so politically. The gatherings were statements. What’s happening in the U.S. now is the closest thing my body remembers to the meaningful, shared, committed action of gathering to honor, acknowledge, and protect. The intentions of the rallies and protests are not the same as Memorial Day, and I am not equating them. I am recognizing the resurgence of something important enough to pause whatever else any of us might be doing and commit to showing up to both protest the degradation of human and planetary rights, and connect with our communities in service of shared experience of unity. Every rally or protest I have attended recently feels like those remembrance gatherings: there is care, friendship, humor, and connection. We are there because it matters.
June 14th is an auspicious day for me. It’s my wedding anniversary, the birthday of my beloved teacher and friend Emilie Conrad, the day both my mother and our precious dog Osa were cremated, and this year, it’s a day of dueling gatherings. While the military wastefully parades to celebrate the U.S. President’s birthday under the guise of marching for the 250th anniversary of the U.S. Army, many of us will gather. We will rally and protest.
This newsletter is a reminder to those of us who can—as close to safely as possible—show up to something that matters – to SHOW UP. It’s not political. It’s our civic duty. Every person in this country who celebrates our human rights can do so because of a long history of freedom movements by groups who were and are marginalized and oppressed: the American Indian Movement, Black Lives Matter, the Americans with Disabilities Act, Me Too, Civil Rights, Women’s Suffrage, Gay Liberation. All of us who cherish freedom benefit from the courageous communities who fought for their rights.
These are the very communities who are targeted today because Project 2025, a manifesto for white supremacy, is the playbook for the current U.S. government. In these times, protests are not political. They are a necessary action. They are our responsibility. I no longer tolerate my white-bodied friends choosing to remain silent and comfortable. It’s truly dangerous for BIPOC, queer, disabled, immigrant and other folks to gather. Many of my white friends complain that “no one is doing anything.” That’s because it’s our turn. And it’s timely, because the list of who’s “Un-American” is growing.
Nonviolent protests are twice as likely to succeed as armed conflicts—and those engaging a threshold of 3.5% of the population have never failed to bring about change. Read this BBC article: The ‘3.5% rule’: How a small minority can change the world.
To every white U.S. citizen who buys fruit immigrants picked, or lives on stolen land, or whose ancestors’ homes were built by enslaved people—it’s your turn to show up to what matters. It’s time to raise our voices in the spaces we have a right to inhabit. Our bodies are our voices, and they are being threatened with a magnitude of loss, threat, and discrimination that should stun everyone who cares. June 14, 2025 is close: Lets rally in protest, and in unity, together.