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No one protests more than a Democrat. I’ve watched the ritual a hundred times and lived it. Friends gather in parks with paint and markers. Group chats light up: "where to meet, what’s the route, loop here or there, lunch before or after." In the first Trump term, if you lived in D.C., protest became background noise. Sit at a café on Massachusetts Avenue and a march would drift by at some point. The metric became volume, how loud you could scream, how much emotion you could muster.

I marched too. I walked the National Mall with friends for Black Lives Matter , chanting until my voice went hoarse. I told myself two things could be true: the police were there to protect our right to be present and the system had failed too m

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