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This article New data shows No Kings was one of the largest days of protest in US history was originally published by Waging Nonviolence.

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No Kings Day on June 14 was one of the largest single days of protest in United States history, and it was probably the second-largest single day demonstration since Donald Trump first took office in January 2017. The number of participants and expansive geographic spread that day are both signs of the persistent popular opposition to the second Trump administration.

The Crowd Counting Consortium has been collecting data on protest events and participation since the first Women’s March on Jan. 21, 2017. Last week, we published our most recent monthly update, with estimated figures for the month of June, including the nationwide No Kings protests on June 14. With 82 percent of anti-Trump events for which we tallied participation on June 14, our estimates suggest that between 2 and 4.8 million people participated in over 2,150 actions nationwide. (We could not confirm estimated protest figures at 18 percent of events; almost all of these missing figures were in small towns.) However, we estimate the turnout at No Kings to be substantially larger than the turnout at the Hands Off protests on April 5, which mobilized a significant number as well — between 919,000 and 1.5 million people. 

No Kings in context

The Women’s March in 2017 — which involved between 3.2 and 5.3 million people — was, at the time, probably the largest single-day demonstration in U.S. history. No Kings in June 2025 had comparable aggregate turnout, albeit across far more locations. Whereas the 2017 Women’s March involved actions in over 650 locations, No Kings saw events in over three times as many locations, with events organized in big cities, small towns and places in between.

In that regard, No Kings was geographically more similar to some of the dispersed protests that began to dominate the U.S. protest landscape in 2018. For instance, on March 14, 2018, between 1.1 and 1.7 million students walked out of their classrooms on the one-month anniversary of the school shooting in Parkland, Florida. In an unprecedented demonstration, students in about 4,470 locations — from kindergartners to university students and even some homeschooled students — participated in what was then the largest number of recorded locations in a single day of coordinated protest in U.S. history. Ten days later, on March 24, 2018, the March for Our Lives drew an estimated 1.3 to 2.2 million participants in over 700 locations to demand safety from gun violence in schools. (The 2018 Women’s March, about two months earlier, had drawn an estimated 1.8 to 2.6 million people in 407 locations.) Protests throughout the month of June 2018 turned out several million protesters, largely accounted for by Pride marches and protests on behalf of LGBTQ+ rights — and over a thousand protests against the family separation policy implemented during the first Trump administration.

Sustained protest at geographically dispersed events in the U.S. reached its peak in the summer of 2020, during which millions of people mobilized at some 12,000 protest events in over 3,110 locations over eight months. This makes the wave of protests following the killings of George Floyd, Breonna Taylor and Ahmaud Arbery the largest and broadest mass mobilization in U.S. history; notably, it built on years of intense organizing against police violence toward Black people and communities, including through the work of Black Lives Matter and other Black-led organizations, following the acquittal of Trayvon Martin’s killer in Florida in July 2013, and the killing of Michael Brown in Ferguson, Missouri in August 2014. 

Notable movement growth in 2025

While media attention is often focused on actors acquiescing to Trump’s demands, in the streets the popular protest movement continues to push back against the administration with notable persistence over time. Consistent with our past reporting, 2025 so far has seen far more protests than were recorded at this time in 2017 — a trend that continues through at least the end of July.

Overall, June 2025 saw protests in all 50 states and Washington, D.C. Geographic dispersion of protest is noteworthy in part because prior research has found associations between the location of protest, protest participation and election outcomes. Generally speaking, higher turnout at protests in 2009 and 2017 was associated with more votes cast for the opposition party during the midterm elections in 2010 (for Republicans) and 2018 (for Democrats), respectively. 

Reporting on No Kings day highlighted the protesters’ desire to build upon street protest and to expand the coalition. An organizer in Beaumont, Texas, told local news, “We hope to encourage other people by being present in our community, to come join us, connect with us and get involved.” As the Nebraska Examiner reported, “Democrats, nonpartisans, and some Republicans who oppose Trump have used the protests as a political rallying cry or organizational tool.”

Furthering the emphasis on protests as tools, the event in Durango, Colorado, included “action tables” where protesters could do everything from write postcards to Congress to submit letters to the editor. Part of the aim of protests is also about the emotional resonance of being joyful in a like-minded group. “Nothing makes the oppressors more furious than seeing the oppressed having a good time,” said a trombonist who played amidst the protests.

Participants included the young, the old and the clever, with one sign in Anchorage, Alaska, reading “The Only Kings we want are salmon.” In Milford, New Hampshire, Marcie Blauner, age 97, attended her very first protest ever, holding a sign mentioning her age and “Pearl Harbor and D-Day were current events to me. Protect Democracy Again!” In Rochester, New York, protesters from the retirement community St. John’s Meadows also joined the nationwide protests. In expressing deep concern about the U.S. today, one resident highlighted what he saw as a potential historical parallel: the rise of the Nazi Party in Germany.

In addition to the number of protests taking place, there are, of course, other indicators of the growing commitment of protesters to participate in a durable pro-democracy movement. One indicator is the willingness to participate in peaceful protests despite the threat of political violence. Tens of thousands turned out in Saint Paul despite the killing and attempted killing of several Minnesota lawmakers and their spouses the morning of the No Kings protests on June 14, followed by a warning of potential targeting of protesters by the at-large gunman. One peaceful marcher was killed in Salt Lake City by an armed volunteer who fired shots at a nearby armed man, who was also wounded. Counter-protesters in several locations around the country brandished weapons at No Kings protesters. However, those incidents of violence were exceptions — over 99.5 percent of reported protests had no injuries or property damage, with the latter reported in only 10 locations (just under 0.5 percent). 

A second indicator of commitment is that the No Kings coalition has hosted several online trainings over the past month that have attracted hundreds of thousands of views. The July 16 virtual training was probably the largest nonviolence training in U.S. history, with over 130,000 registered. 

Popular mobilization through protest is neither the entirety of the opposition to the Trump administration nor sufficient in and of itself to compel change. But historically, the mass public — in tandem with other societal actors like opposition politicians, lawyers, labor unions and courts — is likely to continue to play a crucial role in the U.S. and elsewhere in standing for the rule of law and democratic norms.

This article New data shows No Kings was one of the largest days of protest in US history was originally published by Waging Nonviolence.

This article A veteran climate organizer’s new book shares lessons from the frontlines was originally published by Waging Nonviolence.

One route to enhancing an activist’s power is to sign up for training sessions, where you can receive coaching on how to improve your organizing skills. There’s only one problem: Sometimes there aren’t enough trainers to meet the growing demand.

We learned this in the early 1960s, when the U.S. civil rights movement expanded too rapidly for available coaches to fill the need. As a result, Marty Oppenheimer and I published “A Manual for Direct Action.” When we ran out of copies, all we had to do was print more.

The current level of environmental crisis is no doubt increasing the need and demand for more activist coaching. Thankfully, Eileen Flanagan’s new book — “Common Ground: How the Crisis of the Earth Is Saving Us from our Illusion of Separation” — has arrived just in time to help out. (Flanagan is a longtime Waging Nonviolence contributor.)

Throughout the book, Flanagan’s knack for vivid description helps readers feel as though they are gaining first-hand experience. When, for example, a New Orleans environmentalist leader drives Flanagan around to see points of conflict, we readers seem to be in the car with her. We not only gain lessons drawn from powerful environmental activism, but we also feel a sense of personal comradeship with the people she interviewed and worked alongside.

Because Flanagan is a veteran activist and writer (and someone I have worked closely with over the years), she knows the questions readers want to ask — as well as the reassurance we might need at moments when the struggles we face feel overwhelming. What’s more, her writing style is more conversational and subtle than the typical activist manual, while also going quite a bit deeper in its analysis.

Anyone who digs into an issue for the years it takes to see progress made — or even a win — can feel that we know a whole lot about that particular fight. In the process, though, we may lose track of other important struggles the movement is waging, along with the associated lessons learned. One merit of Flanagan’s book is that she knows the questions we’d want to ask about the campaigns she describes — campaigns that vary widely in location and circumstance.

I didn’t know, for example, that Vietnamese youth in Louisiana were doing climate actions alongside Latinos, as well as Black and white people. Nor was I aware that Ojibwe people in Minnesota fought the installation of an oil pipeline that would damage ancestral lands.

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Flanagan doesn’t restrict herself to the U.S. either: In far-away India, she learned that activists succeeded in getting coal mining banned in a major forest — and through her interviews, we get the first-hand story of how they went about it. She also manages to link the story of a small rural settlement fighting pollution to the international climate treaty negotiations held in the Netherlands. The overall effect is one of feeling deeply connected to the victories of environmentalists all over the world, perhaps most particularly in places Americans rarely visit.

It’s not surprising that Flanagan succeeds in this way, having spent countless hours on far-away picket lines, in meetings and at organizers’ homes. Her writing skills show up in her ability to maintain the larger narrative wherever she goes: What’s working in this campaign? What are the challenges? How are activists meeting them?

Digging into victories — and challenges

Although this book offers the usefulness of a traditional activist manual, it offers so much more than that due to Flanagan’s remarkably personal style. For example, she shares the revealing moments when her own internalized racism was acted out. She then shares results of experiments she tried while working to unlearn that racism.

Previous Coverage

How a small Quaker group forced PNC Bank to stop financing mountaintop removal

Flanagan obviously enjoys describing victories, as when the Earth Quaker Action Team, or EQAT — a Philadelphia-based group she’s a member of — forced one of America’s largest banks to stop financing mountaintop removal coal mining. That victory, which made it harder for struggling coal companies to secure financing, helped to inspire more climate finance campaigns, resulting in more than 1,600 institutions committing to $40 trillion-plus worth of fossil fuel divestment.

In describing the campaign, Flanagan shares a strategy tool that helped guide it: the spectrum of allies. She then connects that tool to an environmental campaign she observes in Louisiana, offering enough detail so that readers can pick up the tool and use it themselves.

As with any environmental book, “Common Ground” has plenty of information about facts and trends that may influence our strategic thinking. However, I was struck by Flanagan’s low-key way of relating environmental facts. She knows her readers: Most of us don’t need more motivation to act — we want to know how to act more effectively.

Importantly, Flanagan shares lessons from previous movements where grassroots campaigns won against seemingly overwhelming odds. In one example, she shows how the Baton Rouge bus boycott’s partial victory in 1953 in turn spurred the Montgomery campaign’s big win a couple of years later. It’s helpful to see environmental struggles in that larger context and know that we, too, can learn from and inspire each other.

Race, class and the value of coalition

Flanagan’s combination of big-picture skills and personal journalistic details show up over and over when describing activist coalition-building challenges. She’s unusually class- and race-aware, offering an example to activists of how to extend ourselves in such ways. She tells the story of her own ancestry (working-class Irish American) and describes how that was incorporated historically into U.S. white supremacy. She then uses that example to offer suggestions to readers for whom it might be relevant.

Basing her discussion on her own experience, as well as an interview with campaign strategist Daniel Hunter, Flanagan describes four models of campaign organizing in relation to race. She then passes along what works for building common ground within the group.

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One of her most profound learnings came from an Indigenous confrontation in Minnesota over the installation of a $4 billion oil pipeline project threatening to damage ancestral lands. She describes the confrontation:

In the long skirt I had been taught to wear for ceremonies, I prayed fiercely, holding one of six thin wooden shields that were covered with reflective metal, so that the police would see themselves if they looked at us. I was one of six white allies asked to stand as a safety barrier between the police and several Indigenous youths who climbed the corporation’s structure to sing and drum through the chain link fence. A young Indigenous man with long thin braids told me that when he was asked to sing a song, he consulted the Creator for guidance, and the words that came to him were a prayer for those doing the harm.

“They don’t know any better,” he said quietly.

That reply struck me. What do we make of this difference she sometimes found between Indigenous protesters and white protesters who distance themselves from police? Are Indigenous activists more likely to honor the humanity of the enforcers by acknowledging the limitations of knowledge and conscience that seem to handicap white police?

This was new to me. In my many activist decades of dealing with police — including being beaten by them — it never occurred to me to acknowledge their limitations of knowledge and conscience as their handicap!

Ultimately, I found “Common Ground” to be both an enjoyable and fast read. I can also imagine its “manual dimension,” lending itself to being read in a group of activists. The many practical tips could easily come alive and fuel both the strategy and creativity needed for new winning campaigns.

This article A veteran climate organizer’s new book shares lessons from the frontlines was originally published by Waging Nonviolence.

This article New Jersey’s Break the Bonds campaign adds pressure on states to divest from Israel was originally published by Waging Nonviolence.

On July 13, roughly 100 people convened in Military Park in Newark, New Jersey for the launch of Break the Bonds, a new statewide campaign in solidarity with Palestine. Inspired by the BDS Movement — a call from Palestinian civil society organizations to boycott and divest from Israel’s economy — the activists in New Jersey vowed to get their state to divest from Israel Bonds. These bonds, as organizers explained, are direct loans that individuals and institutions make to the Israeli treasury, enabling its ongoing genocide in Gaza and broader oppression of Palestinians.

The initiative in New Jersey is the latest local expression of a national campaign that launched on May 23, 2024. Since that national launch, coalitions have formed across the country to pressure various state and local institutions to divest from Israel Bonds. Jewish Voice for Peace, or JVP, one of the national organizations behind the Break the Bonds campaign, has published dispatches from iterations of the campaign in Philadelphia, Cleveland and Providence. There have also been efforts in North Carolina, New York, Florida, and Illinois. All are targeting public institutions that buy Israel Bonds, including state treasuries and pension funds.

Speaking at the campaign launch rally, Wassim Kanaan, the chair of New Jersey’s chapter of American Muslims for Palestine, or AMP-NJ, denounced the complicity of U.S. institutions in the unfolding genocide. “Whether it be the healthcare industry, the academia industry, the very important economic industry … these sectors are not free of blame when we talk about Zionist atrocities and crimes.”

The coalition of organizations at the launch included local chapters of national organizations: AMP-NJ, the Council on American-Islamic Relations NJ, and JVP of Northern New Jersey and Central New Jersey. Several state-specific organizations were also present, including Ceasefire Now NJ, New Jersey Peace Action and Palestinian American Community Center.

JVP member Eric Romann described the coalition as united by each organization’s ongoing efforts to challenge U.S. support for Israel. That work also includes challenging support coming from New Jersey’s public institutions and officials “in the context of this ongoing genocide and long history of apartheid and ethnic cleansing.”

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A recent Open Public Records Request filed by JVP shows that the New Jersey Division of Investment holds over $30 million in Israel Bonds. Correspondingly, the organizers are demanding that the state commit to not renewing or expanding those investments. At the same time, the coalition has several long-term goals for its campaign.

“We broadly would like to see, in the long term, the state of New Jersey adopt an investment policy that is consistent with principles of human rights, economic and racial justice, and environmental sustainability,” Romann said. “We would love to partner with other social movements and organizations in the state of New Jersey that would like to see an investment policy that reflects those principles.”

Understanding Israel Bonds

Because Israel Bonds are not well known among the general public, much of the initial work of the campaign has consisted of organizers explaining the purpose of these bonds and how they prop up Israel’s economy.

Its story began in 1951, when Israel’s then-Prime Minister David Ben-Gurion created the Development Corporation for Israel — the economic institution behind Israel Bonds. Since its inception, the Development Corporation has raised more than $40 billion for Israel’s economy. According to a Bloomberg report, U.S. investment in Israel Bonds has yielded $5 billion since the Oct. 7 attacks alone. This number is notably double the typical amount Israel was raising through Israel Bonds prior to the war. In a quote from the Bloomberg report, Israel Bonds President and Chief Executive Officer Dani Naveh claims that the largest share of U.S. investments in the bonds comes from state, city and local governments.

While the specific amounts of investment vary from state to state, organizers of the Break the Bonds campaign see the emphasis on Israel Bonds as a way to expose the complicity of U.S. institutions in Israel’s anti-Palestinian violence.

The campaign also raises the question of how taxpayer money gets spent compared to what might better benefit localities and states. Speaking at the launch rally in Newark, longtime community activist Larry Hamm said, “Instead of spending that money on war, they need to spend it at home on healthcare, on education, on jobs, on the needs of the people. That’s what we’ve got to build.”

Growing a grassroots campaign

While the campaign has not secured any divestments so far, activists have made important advances in exposing the role of Israel Bonds — and how much different cities and states contribute to these investments. As a result, several cities across the country have introduced divestment resolutions.

Last year, shortly after the launch of the national campaign — and following months of protests in the streets, at universities and outside of banks — the Cuyahoga County Council introduced a resolution to halt investment in Israel Bonds. Two days later, in Rhode Island, the Providence City Council introduced a similar resolution. More recently, in Illinois, union members filed an ethics complaint against the Illinois state treasurer over the state’s $100 million investment in Israel Bonds. This coincided with an Illinois state senator introducing legislation to halt investment in Israel Bonds.

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Other states have used various tactics to challenge investment. Activists in Philadelphia got the word out about their Break the Bonds campaign with protests, including one in which rabbis and allies blocked traffic to call for divestment. In Palm Beach, residents sued the county in May 2024 over its $700 million investment in Israel Bonds.

Back at the launch of New Jersey’s campaign, speakers acknowledged that their effort will likely be a long fight. At the same time, however, they also believe educating the broader community — and building a large and diverse coalition — is the best way to challenge these investments.

“The counterbalance to industries in cahoots are people in a movement who are in solidarity,” Kanaan said.

This article New Jersey’s Break the Bonds campaign adds pressure on states to divest from Israel was originally published by Waging Nonviolence.

This article What fantasy stories teach us about defeating authoritarianism was originally published by Waging Nonviolence.

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An earlier version of this article was published by The Fulcrum.

Like many true elder millennials, I find comfort in escaping into fantasy worlds — “Harry Potter,” “Lord of the Rings” and “Star Wars.” But lately, these stories haven’t just been a break from the chaos of real life. They’ve become a lens for understanding it. They remind me what courage looks like when the odds are stacked against you — and what it means to stand up, not just to threats to justice, but to silence, complicity and fear.

Lately, I’ve been thinking less about the final battles, the catharsis, the clarity, the triumphant arrival of friends. We’re not there yet. Not even close. What I keep returning to is “Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix,” despite the deep discomfort of doing so — since it means revisiting a story that shaped my early moral imagination while reckoning with the dehumanizing and othering beliefs and behavior of its author. For all its flaws and the real harm she has caused, it remains a story that gave many of us early language for power, resistance and moral choice. This is that chapter — the one where everything tightens. The danger is real. The protagonists are scattered. The institutions are eroding and the air gets heavy with denial and dread.

Voldemort has returned, but the Ministry of Magic refuses to admit it. Rather than confront the threat, those in power turn on the people who do. Truth-tellers are ridiculed, surveilled and silenced. Education, once meant to foster critical thinking, is recast as indoctrination. Dissent becomes disruption. Truth becomes dangerous.

At the center of it all is Dolores Umbridge, smiling through pink cardigans and kitten plates as she issues decree after decree. Her power doesn’t come from brute force, but from something more insidious: the weaponization of bureaucracy. She governs through policy, paperwork and punishment, tightening control with every rule and ritual designed to reward obedience and punish defiance.

It’s also not just the rules; it’s the gaslighting. A kind so relentless that it makes you question your memory of what’s right, of what’s real. For instance, when Harry insists Voldemort has returned, Umbridge punishes him for “lying,” forcing him to write the phrase “I must not tell lies,” a denial of truth etched into his own skin.

Today’s decrees aren’t written in magical ink, but they echo those same tactics. They come dressed as executive orders, targeted investigations and retaliatory firings masked as efficiency, which looks like governance but functions as something else entirely. As political scientists Steven Levitsky, Lucan Way and Daniel Ziblatt warn, “Most 21st-century autocrats are elected. … They convert public institutions into political weapons.” In this model, repression hides behind bureaucracy. It’s disguised as a process, making it harder to name and easier to doubt your instincts.

The goal isn’t just control. It’s to make resistance feel reckless. As those political scientists note, “When citizens must think twice about criticizing or opposing the government — because they could credibly face government retribution — they no longer live in a full democracy.”

That’s the danger right now: Fear pushes people into isolation, and when they are isolated, silence starts to feel like strategy.

What makes it more disorienting is that we can’t even agree on what’s happening. Some see democratic collapse. Others see righteous restoration. Many disengage entirely and are unmoved, overwhelmed or unwilling to name it.

This isn’t just polarization, it’s a fracture in our shared reality. And beneath that fracture, there is something even more destabilizing: a collapse of trust.

Trust is more than a sentiment. It’s the scaffolding of civic life, the thing that makes dissent possible, and gives us confidence that others will stand beside us, even if they don’t fully agree.

But according to a new report by the Pew Research Center, 64 percent of Americans say most people can’t be trusted, a number that hasn’t budged since 2016. And when trust erodes, democracy doesn’t collapse all at once; it decays quietly, from within.

Even in that decay, though, something begins to grow, not because it’s safe, but because it’s necessary.

In “Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix,” the institutions are compromised. The leadership is absent. The heroes are scattered. And still, something forms. Dumbledore’s Army doesn’t begin with a sweeping call to arms. It begins in the margins, with a few people deciding they won’t wait for permission to defend what matters. It wasn’t a dramatic uprising. It was a quiet refusal to comply in advance.

This is where we choose what kind of characters we want to be, not waiting for a rescue (because no one is coming), but recognizing the story depends on us.

Fantasy stories — and history — remind us: Turning points rarely feel like turning points. They don’t come with clarity or consensus. They come with hesitation. They come when people stop waiting for the right moment and start acting anyway.

Dumbledore’s Army begins

In every story we turn to for meaning — such as “Harry Potter,” “The Lord of the Rings” and “Star Wars” — there’s a moment when it feels like the heroes might lose. The world is unraveling faster than it can be repaired. The danger is real, the enemy is advancing and help isn’t coming.

That kind of despair isn’t just emotional, it’s strategic. It’s exactly what authoritarianism counts on. Not brute force, but momentum. The illusion that resistance is futile. That no one else will act. That the outcome is already decided.

But illusions can be broken.

And that has been happening in the United States. We’ve already seen cracks in the surface: mass protests, legal victories, institutional pushback. By the end of March 2025, there were more than three times the number of protests in the U.S. from the same time in 2017. As researchers Erica Chenoweth, Jeremy Pressman and Soha Hammam observed, “Americans seem to be rediscovering the art, science and potency of noncooperation. The resistance isn’t fading. It’s adapting, diversifying and just getting started.”

The way forward doesn’t require perfect coordination. It requires commitment and showing up however and wherever we can. This isn’t a single movement, it’s a mosaic. And that’s a strength, not a flaw.

We know what works. We’ve tested interventions, built infrastructure and shifted narratives. The question now is whether we’re showing up, consistently, creatively and together.

And that is starting to happen as people recognize that democracy isn’t self-sustaining. Educators are shielding students from political interference. Lawyers are refusing to capitulate under threat. Institutions and public servants are holding the line. Neighbors, coworkers and faith leaders are choosing not to normalize the unacceptable. People are stepping outside their comfort zones, seeking connection, building trust and strengthening the civic fabric.

The work is underway. The call now is to keep going and to bring others with us.

As Ian Bassin of Protect Democracy reminds us, “To believe in democracy is to believe that we, collectively, have the power to shape our future … until democracy is completely vanquished, and even after, ultimate power rests in the hands of We the People.”

Chenoweth’s research shows that almost every nonviolent movement in modern history that has mobilized at least 3.5 percent of the population has succeeded, and many have won with less. Reaching that threshold doesn’t happen on its own. It takes people inviting others in, making participation feel possible, even joyful.

And that’s what gives me hope. As long as enough of us keep speaking up, showing up and standing together, the story doesn’t end here. We still get to shape what’s written in the next chapters.

The magic is us

Fantasy stories remind us that it was never about the numbers; it was about the networks. Dumbledore’s Army. The Fellowship. The Resistance.

They didn’t wait for permission. They didn’t wait for someone else. They stepped into the story, scared, unsure and in motion.

Now it’s our turn. Now it’s your turn.

Maybe you’ve never seen yourself as an activist. Maybe you still don’t. That’s okay. Because this isn’t about activism as an identity, it’s about citizenship as a practice. And somewhere along the way, we stopped practicing it.

In America, we’ve come to treat citizenship like a spectator sport, something you check into every few years. Something reserved for politicians, pundits or the loudest voices in the room. But democracy was never meant to be a performance. It’s a collective act, sustained by ordinary people showing up in ordinary ways.

Real citizenship is how we meet this moment, not just in resistance, but in participation. Not just when the stakes are high, but when no one’s watching. Not just in protest of what we’re against, but in active pursuit of what we’re trying to build.

If we want to keep the experiment of American democracy alive, we can’t treat it like someone else’s job. We have to be participants, not spectators.

So, how do we start showing up?

Remember, we’re working with a mosaic. Practicing citizenship looks different for each of us, but here are three ways anyone can begin:

1. Find your people. Find your joy.

Democracy isn’t just sustained by protests and policies; it’s sustained by relationships. And right now, we’re living through a loneliness epidemic. According to Pew, nearly half of Americans say they don’t have a single person they could call in an emergency, or even trust with a spare key. That kind of isolation doesn’t just erode well-being, it weakens our capacity to care, to engage, to stand up for each other.

So start small. Community doesn’t have to be big to be powerful; it just has to be real.

If you’re looking for ways to start building community, here are a few places to begin:

• The Longest Table is a global movement bringing neighbors together over shared meals to build connection and empathy.
• National Good Neighbor Day is a national initiative encouraging neighborly acts and stronger local ties.
• A Wider Circle hosts “Neighbor to Neighbor Day” and other community engagement efforts that foster dignity and mutual aid.

And most importantly, make space for joy. Share meals, laughter and stories. These aren’t distractions from the work, they’re what the work is for. Even in the darkest chapters of history, people still fell in love. Still celebrated. Still found each other. Because joy, connection and belonging aren’t extras. They’re part of how we endure. They’re how we honor our shared social contract to care for one another.

2. Model the democracy you want

Our democratic values don’t just live in constitutions and courtrooms; they live in us. In what we expect. In what we tolerate. In how we treat people, especially those with whom we disagree.

That means refusing to accept injustice, corruption or dehumanization as normal. And it means calling in, not just calling out: having honest, respectful conversations that challenge harmful ideas while leaving room for learning and growth.

You don’t have to be a politician to shape democratic culture. Just let your values be visible in how you listen, how you speak and how you engage across differences.

These groups offer tools, trainings and spaces to help you do that work:

• Team Democracy encourages citizens to commit to safe and fair elections through their Principles for Trusted Elections Pledge — a visible, nonpartisan act of support for electoral integrity and civic trust, both during elections and in everyday life.
• Citizen University hosts Civic Saturday gatherings and leadership programs that help people practice civic rituals, build community and strengthen democratic culture.
• Civic Genius creates tools and events, like “How to Run for Office” workshops, that make it easier for everyday people to understand and engage in local government.
• Better Together America promotes civic unity by helping Americans engage across political differences, support democratic values, and restore trust in institutions and one another.
• One America Movement works with faith leaders and communities to confront toxic polarization by fostering relationships across religious and political divides.

3. Protect the process

Democracy doesn’t run on autopilot. It depends on systems that are fair, transparent and accountable, and on people who make sure they stay that way. Protecting the process means keeping those systems visible, responsive and strong.

That might mean volunteering as a poll worker or helping a neighbor get the ID they need to vote. Or it could mean attending a town hall, tracking how public money is spent, or submitting a comment on a local policy.

Here are some organizations that make it easier to get involved and stay informed:

• VoteRiders helps voters navigate complex ID laws and ensures access to the ballot.
• League of Women Voters offers nonpartisan guides and local engagement opportunities, such as candidate forums, ballot explainers and voter registration drives.
• Power the Polls recruits volunteers to serve as poll workers and ensure safe, fair and accessible elections in local communities.
• Open States lets you follow your state legislature and track bills in real time.

These practices aren’t side quests. They’re the main storyline, the way turning points begin — quietly, collectively and often before we realize it.

And if these stories have taught us anything, it’s this: The arc shifts when ordinary people decide the story is theirs to shape.

As Dumbledore once told Harry, “It is our choices, Harry, that show what we truly are, far more than our abilities.”

We don’t need magic to know what comes next — just the courage to believe that our choices now determine how the story ends.

UPDATE 7/28/25: Added critique of “Harry Potter” author’s dehumanizing views.

This article What fantasy stories teach us about defeating authoritarianism was originally published by Waging Nonviolence.

This article A new youth-led lawsuit is challenging Trump’s fossil fuel orders was originally published by Waging Nonviolence.

This summer, kids are taking the climate crisis to the courts. The 22 plaintiffs of Lighthiser v. Trump, a lawsuit filed in May, range from 7 to 25 years old. They are challenging three of President Donald Trump’s most controversial executive orders to “unleash” fossil fuels and revoke renewable energy initiatives. The orders roll back critical investments in sustainable technologies and climate science, declare a “National Energy Emergency” to increase fossil fuel use, and prop up the coal, oil and gas industries through deregulation.

The case will hinge on the youth’s constitutional rights — a pivotal angle in recent environmental suits. When hearings begin in September in the U.S. District Court of Montana, the Lighthiser plaintiffs will argue that the three executive orders violate their Fifth Amendment rights to life and liberty. Additionally, they allege the president exceeded his authority by attempting to override laws like the Clean Air Act. As the case unfolds, it will have sweeping implications for the legal resistance to the Trump administration, and for the climate movement at large.

While the most dangerous consequences of the executive orders will play out over years, from environmental degradation to increased carbon emissions, the plaintiffs can also point to more immediate personal consequences. That could help them prove that the orders harmed them directly, providing legal grounds for the case, which are often questioned in climate lawsuits.

Delaney Reynolds, a graduate student in climate policy and one of the plaintiffs in Lighthiser v. Trump, described the immediate impacts of the orders on her own work. “[Trump] took down the National Climate Assessment reports and website, so they’re no longer accessible,” she said. “Those reports and other scientific documents are all things that I’ve been personally using for my PhD dissertation. So now that I don’t have access to them, my ability to even get my degree is under threat.”

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Reynolds also said that the potential impacts of the case extend far beyond the three executive orders that they’re challenging. She referenced other climate lawsuits she’s led in Florida, some of which were unsuccessful. Despite a suit getting dismissed, she said, “we gained the support in the court of public opinion. News about the case spread all across the state. … It basically comes down to educating people even if the lawsuit isn’t successful.”

Dana R. Fisher, the director of American University’s Center for Environment, Community and Equity, agreed. Much of Fisher’s research explores the strategies and motivations of the grassroots climate movement. Her latest book, “Saving Ourselves: From Climate Shocks to Climate Action,” argues for mass mobilization in response to increasingly frequent and severe climate disasters. With that aim in mind, she says constitutional climate lawsuits can be a critical tool for raising public awareness. In particular, they can reach moderates and those who don’t follow electoral politics.

The Lighthiser case, she said, presents an opportunity to elicit support or inspire action from people who wanted to install heat pumps or solar panels, but now can’t. “Even if [the lawsuit isn’t] successful,” she added, “it will help shine a light on some of these things that are happening.”

They’re also hoping to build on the momentum from previous cases. Nine of the Lighthiser plaintiffs — as well as Our Children’s Trust, the public-interest law firm leading the suit along with Gregory Law Group, McGarvey Law and Public Justice — recently scored a landmark victory in the case of Held v. Montana, which was upheld by the Montana Supreme Court last year. It argued that Montana’s aggressive fossil fuel extraction violated a state constitutional right to “a clean and healthful environment.” Our Children’s Trust and several of the Lighthiser plaintiffs from Hawaii were also successful last year in Navahine v. Hawaii Department of Transportation, which marked the first ever settlement between a state and youth plaintiffs to address constitutional climate concerns.

Despite those major wins, some differences set Lighthiser v. Trump apart as an especially difficult uphill battle. The challenges of taking on Trump directly, along with many of his secretaries and agencies, also named as defendants in the case, are difficult to overstate. It is all but certain that the president and his supporters will try to pressure the judiciary. Moreover, this is not a repeat of the cases against Montana or Hawaii, in which state constitutions set clearer protections for environmental rights. Lightiser has a national scope, and it’s already getting attention. Nineteen states — all Republican led — have filed an unusual motion to intervene in the case, defending Trump’s “drill, baby, drill” mandate. Among more than 450 legal challenges to Trump’s executive orders, this is the only time states have sought such an intervention.

Previous Coverage

How suing the US government can empower the climate movement

The closest parallel to Lightiser in recent litigation might be Juliana v. United States, another high-profile youth climate suit led by Our Children’s Trust. That unsuccessful case was closed by the Supreme Court in March after nearly a decade of government avoidance and extreme legal tactics. It also had national implications, challenging the U.S. government’s investment in fossil fuels on constitutional grounds.

But Liz Lee, an attorney with Our Children’s Trust, emphasized that the new Lighthiser case is not “Juliana 2.0.” The major difference, she said, is that “the 21 Juliana plaintiffs were challenging the systemic national energy plan. … But this time around, we’re really focusing on the three executive orders.” That narrower focus means that there’s a clear remedy in this case, which has been a difficulty in more sweeping legal challenges. This time, as Lee put it, “You can’t say, well, climate change is too big. It’s too hard. We can’t handle it. Here, you revoke the executive orders.”

Our Children’s Trust has also been working to raise awareness and build public support for the case. They hosted a large press conference and rally on Capitol Hill on July 16, celebrating the introduction of concurrent House and Senate resolutions intended to support the lawsuit. The resolutions affirm young people’s fundamental right to a clean environment and condemn the executive actions of the Trump administration. They were introduced by Sen. Jeff Merkley and Reps. Jan Schakowsky, Pramila Jayapal, and Jamie Raskin, along with eight Democratic senators and 43 representatives.

Although the resolutions are essentially symbolic, Fisher said they present an important opportunity to broaden the reach of the lawsuit and engage legislators, as climate activists set longer-term organizing goals and Democrats seek to regain control of Congress in the midterms. Resolutions “are a good way to gauge interest and get support,” she said, “particularly for minority folks when they’re not in power, so that they have a coalition already supporting an issue. Especially with the hope that there will be a turning of the tides.”

Rep. Jayapal spoke at the rally, urging young people to fight back against the Trump administration’s actions in the courts and Congress. “Every single one of us — no matter our age, our background, our race, our income — has the right to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. And you cannot divorce the future of our planet from that right… This administration is intent on destroying our planet, all to make the rich even richer. All of that action denies our youth a just future.”

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Underscoring the urgency of Lighthiser v. Trump, the devastation and death tolls from this year’s unprecedented climate disasters continue to rise. As the U.S. heads into hurricane season, with FEMA and other emergency response agencies severely impaired, many communities have already faced horrific floods, storms, fires and heat waves. From Texas to California, hundreds of people have been killed in recent events fueled by global warming.

Young people, in particular, are experiencing a steep mental toll from the impacts of climate change, sometimes termed “eco-grief.” A slew of studies and articles have documented the rise in climate anxiety, all of which illustrate the critical role of youth in environmental litigation and the broader green movement. This sort of personal harm is exactly what youth climate lawsuits like Lighthiser v. Trump must prove in court.

At the same time, Fisher said, the tragic results of extreme weather often motivate communities and individuals to take action. “Personal experiences open up these windows of opportunity,” she said. “Research documents how even if you are very right-leaning, if you personally experience a climate-exacerbated extreme event, or what we call climate shocks, it actually does change your attitude. People’s attitudes shift to be more supportive of climate action and more supportive of climate science.”

That attitude shift could help the Lighthiser plaintiffs capture wider public attention and build bipartisan support for their case, even as the administration pushes back in the months to come. Although it’s certain to be a tough legal battle, the youth in the suit have no hesitation when it comes to the stakes. Eva Lighthiser, the 19-year-old named plaintiff, said in a press release, “I’m not suing because I want to — I’m suing because I have to. My health, my future and my right to speak the truth are all on the line.”

Without action, Lighthiser said, “Trump’s fossil fuel orders are a death sentence for my generation.”

This article A new youth-led lawsuit is challenging Trump’s fossil fuel orders was originally published by Waging Nonviolence.

This article How movements can make the abundance agenda work for everyone was originally published by Waging Nonviolence.

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There’s an easy way to tell when the idea of what is politically possible — sometimes called the Overton Window — is changing. It happens when you see politicians and thinkers on both the left and the right start to agree on something. Right now, that agreement is about making it easier to build projects. 


Whether it’s Ezra Klein’s “abundance agenda” or tech-fueled ideas like DOGE and its northern copycat, the Build Canada project, there is growing alignment around the need to remove regulations and so-called “red tape” from our governments. And those in power are starting to listen — just take a look at the past few months in Canada.

Since the start of 2025, government from across the political spectrum have passed legislation following this emerging alignment. In Ontario, the right-wing Progressive Conservative Party passed the Protect Ontario By Unleashing Our Economy Act. In addition to gutting regulation, it lets the government create “special economic zones” where it can decide which laws apply and which don’t. On the other side of the country (and the political spectrum) British Columbia’s New Democrats implemented something called the Infrastructure Act meant to speed up approvals for major projects. Nationally, the centrist Liberal Party, under new leader and former central banker Mark Carney, passed the One Canadian Economy Act, which allows them to fast-track projects deemed to be in the service of nation building.

Although slightly different in scope and scale, each bill follows the two-part question at the core of “Abundance,” Klein’s new bestseller: “What do we need more of, and what is stopping us from getting it?”

Unfortunately for people and the planet, too many Canadian politicians believe the answer to the first equation is more mines and pipelines. To the question about what’s stopping us from getting them, their answer is: communities, Indigenous peoples and environmental regulations meant to protect clean air, clean water and endangered species.

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And yet, despite the extractive ideals driving this spate of legislation, these politicians aren’t necessarily wrong about our need to build things fast. When it comes to desperately needed infrastructure like affordable housing, public transit and clean energy, we are moving way too slow. That’s the very idea behind the Green New Deal and a “wartime” climate mobilization: We need more and we need it fast. Right now, politicians and the public are opening the door to just that, the question is: Can movements barge through and take over?

Problem or opportunity?

So far, in Canada, movements have responded to the new legislation by calling for it to be stopped or scrapped. It’s an instinct I understand, and were we still at the place where these were proposed pieces of legislation, I might agree. However, since these bills were rushed through without Indigenous consultation or public input, there is good reason for both skepticism and resistance.



Assembly of First Nations, or AFN, National Chief Cindy Woodhouse Nepinak used phrases like “troubling threat” and “risk to the honor of the Crown” to describe these bills. She excoriated the government for leaving out language around free, prior and informed consent in the federal bill, while also leaving the door open for conversation on what kinds of projects might make sense. In an interview with Liberal party strategist turned pollster and media personality David Herle, she specifically pointed to the AFN’s 2024 Closing the Infrastructure Gap report for a list of projects she thought the new legislation could address — projects that would deliver affordable housing, clean water and increased connectivity.

Perhaps Nepinak saw the same polling I did, showing that these pieces of legislation are wildly popular. Polling from the Angus Reid Institute found that nearly three-quarters of Canadians support fast-tracking major projects. A poll from Demand Progress in the United States found that 43 percent of voters would be more likely to support a candidate pushing to end regulations that “bottleneck” major projects. Movements can either view that as a problem or an opportunity.

On the one hand, the most talked about major project is still another massive tar sands pipeline to connect Alberta to tidewater. It makes sense for movements to view that as a problem. On the other hand, it’s also true that movements haven’t come to the table to propose any big projects of their own.

What if, instead of pipelines, this new momentum to build was marshaled behind public transit, clean energy infrastructure, affordable housing and clean water projects? All of these are easier and faster to build than a pipeline. They’re also much more likely to earn public support, especially when you dig deeper into the polling. Nearly half of Canadians, 49 percent, oppose or strongly oppose the idea of “condensing or bypassing environmental reviews” for projects, including ones deemed to be in the national interest. That number is likely to grow for things like mines and pipelines, projects that threaten clean water, air, communities and the climate.

A further 59 percent support requiring consultation from Indigenous communities, even on projects “declared in the national interest.” It is worth noting that the pollsters were careful to include “not offering a full veto” in the question, so it remains somewhat unclear where the public lies on the idea of respecting the concept of free prior and informed consent.

The Demand Progress poll is even more interesting. When they tested the idea of a candidate who presents ideas that combine elements of both the abundance agenda and a plan to take on corporate wealth and power, a whopping 72.2 percent of voters had a positive reaction.

A chance for proposition

For the last few years the climate movement has been struggling to find its footing in the face of economic anxiety, rising global tension and the threats posed by Donald Trump. This would give people something to rally behind. Instead of gearing up for another decade of pipeline fights, movements could use this moment to redefine what it means when governments say things like “major projects.” Instead of those being extractive by default, they could mean things that actually work for people.



There is a clear pathway to move these ideas from movements into politics. In the United States, the Democratic Party is searching for a pathway back from its crushing 2024 defeat by Trump. In Canada, the New Democratic Party — a formerly leftist party that has drifted towards the center in recent years — is stuck in a circular firing squad while it stumbles to figure out what to do after falling apart in Canada’s 2025 election. Both parties are desperate for good ideas, and their established orders have never been weaker. Strong movements that bring together a wide range of political actors behind a vision of building a new kind of infrastructure could easily step into these voids.

Imagine a connected movement of climate organizers, community groups and Indigenous peoples marching behind a clear set of shovel-ready projects that meaningfully improve people’s lives. In Canada you could even steal the Build Canada brand from the group of tech billionaires that created it. Lay out a clear list of five or 10 projects that build the kind of country you actually want to see. Invite the CEOs to sue over the name — better free publicity is hard to imagine.

A populism that builds

Klein’s argument in “Abundance” is that we need a “liberalism that builds.” The problem is that this approach, in a neoliberal order, will almost guarantee that both people and places are sacrificed. It happened the last time America had this kind of political alignment in the New Deal era.

The New Deal did a lot of great things. It built roads and railways. It put people to work and built a sense of social solidarity that conservatives spent decades tearing apart. But it also irreversibly damaged communities and ecosystems. The “redlining” of Black communities was just one example of this. Another is the hundreds of hulking slabs of concrete and steel that choked the rivers of America.

During the New Deal era, agencies like the Bureau of Reclamation and the Army Corps of Engineers dropped so many dams into U.S. rivers that, today, less than 1 percent of American waterways are still free flowing. These dams drowned communities, displaced people, destroyed Indigenous sacred sites and sent species and ecosystems onto the scrapheap of extinction. They provided power and jobs, but now many are considered to be such mistakes that they’re being ripped out. Just this year, a group of Indigenous youth made the first kayak descent of a free flowing Klamath River. The last dam was removed on Oct. 2, 2024. It was one of 108 dams removed that year, a trend that has been increasing as the social and ecological cost of these dams is being recognized.

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If Indigenous peoples had been at the table during the New Deal era perhaps this could have been avoided. Today, movements have a chance to push for just that kind of collaboration. It’s crucial for the kinds of infrastructure we truly need, like renewable energy and electrified transit.

There is a massive push to expand mining projects for the so-called “critical minerals” needed for batteries and solar panels. If the mainstream political order holds the reins, these projects will no doubt devastate Indigenous communities, water and ecosystems. They’ll build carbon spewing mining projects that they’ll tell us we need to combat emissions.

Movement judo

Social movements will always be in fights against larger forces and entrenched power. It’s David versus Goliath. The Rebellion versus the Empire. Organized people versus organized money.

These fights are almost never won through direct conflict. Instead, successful movements borrow a concept from the martial art of judo. The core principle of judo is momentum. Instead of taking a larger opponent on with a vigorous attack, you position yourself, prepare and then, when the moment comes, use your opponent’s momentum against them.

Right now, social movements have a chance to do just that. There is energy behind the idea that our societies and governments need to get to work on building things. Fighting that is a recipe not just to lose campaigns, but to lose the public. If instead, movements build power and support behind infrastructure and ideas that truly work for people, huge victories could be possible.

What’s more, in winning these kinds of things, movements can deliver in way that truly makes people’s lives better. With smart strategy, organizing and action, movements can take the momentum that governments are currently leveraging to back big developers, corporate power and fossil fuels and make it work for the public.

This article How movements can make the abundance agenda work for everyone was originally published by Waging Nonviolence.