The rise of Reagan and my newly-dawning resistance to authority fueled my transition from long-haired rock & roll fan into deliberately-bald punk rocker (there’s no such thing as a “hard corer”) circa 1979/1980. While my former Nihilistics bandmates leaned ever more right, eventually embracing MAGA, I’ve remained true to my politics. That’s why I’ve been doing what I can to protest our current descent into oligarchy and authoritarianism.
Saturday, April 5th I wore all black – my lightest, warmest long-johns, heaviest T-shirt, beefiest boot socks, Levis, flannel shirt and watch cap – to reflect my mood. Sweet T. and I were joining the local Hands Off 2025 protest but for me it felt more like a funeral march for the farce that is now America. I’d learned about the Weehawken event on BlueSky a week earlier, glad for an alternative to the Manhattan gathering. It also felt important to represent in our hometown. Chilly, windy – with rain threatening – I increased my layers with a Levi's trucker jacket topped by the motorcyclist raincoat I’ve come to loathe due to its left-handed zipper, uncooperative snap buttons and oversized helmet-accommodating hood that won’t play nice with my glasses. I had no choice… I’m not an umbrella user, especially in a crowd, and wanted both hands free, hence the old suspenders clipped to my two-sided Cory Booker-inspired sign…
… and hanging around my neck. Sweet T.’s sign featured cutouts of different block-printed hands she’d created previously, glued up around the text HANDS OFF OUR SOCIAL SECURITY! By 12:45 PM we were out the door and down the street to Hamilton Park at the end of our block. A sizable, boisterous crowd had already formed and a few neighbors, spotting us across Boulevard East, waved us over. We slotted ourselves in next to Sharon, my estate sale friend I’ve written about here. The talk quickly turned to just how fucked up literally everything is right now. We clung to the few bright spots since January 20: the Stop Oligarchy tour, Cory Booker’s speech and this march. Our signs garnered compliments and we returned the praise while cheers went up for honking horns on cars traveling the boulevard. The mayor (who’s been mayor 34 years) showed up and shook hands. An organizer in a yellow safety vest used her small bullhorn to issue a few preliminaries: Keep to the sidewalk, don’t block traffic, don’t engage counter-protesters, anyone with percussion come up front. We set off just after 1:00 PM, heading north along the Hudson River, waving our signs, goaded by bullhorn lady into a call-and-response: When our rights are under attack, STAND UP, FIGHT BACK! I recognized another yellow-vested organizer and whispered to Sweet T., “Hey, that’s the guy who hit my old Mercedes that Halloween…” Weehawken cops on foot and motorcycle flanked us, lights on, sirens off, and we moved slowly north toward 60th Street in West New York for the turn towards Park Avenue and back south. We stopped at a few spots along the way for mini-speeches from the organizers but even with bullhorns they were near-impossible to hear over the crowd and noise from the street. Up in the apartment buildings lining Boulevard East residents took to their balconies to gape or wave their support. The validation felt good but I wondered how our efforts would otherwise land in our blue town in our (not-quite-as-deep) blue state.
The rain and wind came and went and when we turned onto Park Avenue there was a bit of a commotion behind me. I turned and saw a young black guy in a MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN hat surrounded by marchers alternately chanting HEY HEY, HO HO, TRUMP AND MUSK HAVE GOT TO GO and imploring him to take his hat and fuck off. He was entirely defiant, shouting back at anyone who made the mistake of engaging him. Sweet T. told me MAGA Man had been with us all along (so it’s true: there IS one in every crowd) but must’ve kept the hat hidden in a pocket, only donning it when we got to Park Avenue. Why? To lull us into a false sense of comity, then lower the boom? To gather intel along the way so he could devastate us with his lib-owning Trump defense? Or did he want the businesses along Park Avenue to see someone, anyone, swimming against the tide for some reason? I didn’t care and kept my distance, not wanting to waste my breath.
Ninety minutes after starting out we arrived at Tower Plaza and said goodbye to various neighbors. Sweet T. cut through the Tower Plaza parking lot towards home and I headed off to the LIDL for a few items. The crowd had dispersed, a dozen or so people milling around, when another bullhorn lady – petite, scowling – fed up with MAGA Man’s ongoing provocation snatched his hat off his head. I didn’t see it but heard his reaction. Surrounded by cops, the mayor a few feet away, MAGA Man bellowed YOU SEE THAT?! YOU SEE THAT?! RIGHT IN FRONT OF ALL THESE COPS! I’M PRESSING CHARGES! THAT WAS ASSAULT! EVERYONE SAW IT! THAT’S WHY NO ONE RESPECTS YOU! The cops all looked at each other, then at the mayor. The hat snatcher was defiant, putting her bullhorn to her mouth to blanket us with THIS IS THE CRAZIEST PART, THE COPS DID NOTHING the entire time! THEY DID NOTHING to deescalate!! WHAT SIDE ARE YOU ON?! WHAT SIDE ARE YOU ON?! I kept watch from a few feet away as the mayor and a gray-haired woman got between the hat snatcher and MAGA Man:
After a few tense moments, the hat snatcher went south down Park Avenue and MAGA Man went north. I went to the LIDL for chips.
The next day at the Elks Lodge I ran into the mayor and thanked him for cooling things out. He leaned over conspiratorially and said I told them both to go get a cup of coffee.
The next national day of protest is NO KINGS DAY on Saturday, June 14th. I hope to see you at the NYC march.