No Kings. Not Now. Not Ever.

 A nation that once broke a crown remembers why it did.

A single sign cuts through the noise of a divided nation, reminding America that freedom was never meant to serve a throne.

Today is No King’s Day, October 18, 2025. Did you feel it when you stepped outside and saw the yellow scarves and the hand-painted signs? Did your chest lift a little when you heard strangers chanting the same simple line: “America has no kings”? I did. Not because protest is trendy, but because that sentence is older than any president and younger than every kid learning civics this year. It is the line we tell each other when government forgets who pays the bills. It is the line we repeat when a leader’s voice gets too loud and the rest of us start to feel small. Why pretend otherwise?

We didn’t wake up and invent this out of boredom. We got here the day tanks rolled past the Mall in June while the cameras lingered like it was a personal birthday show. Was the Army’s 250th something to celebrate? Of course. Was the timing and tone a little too much? You tell me. When the drumline fades and the smoke clears, who is the parade really for? If it’s for the country, then say so and step back. If it’s for one man, that’s a different story, and people know the difference. That’s why “No Kings” stuck. It didn’t have to be explained. It just made sense.

What does today mean, practically, for the nation? It means millions of ordinary people found each other again. Not the usual suspects. Nurses coming off night shifts. Teachers with tired feet. Veterans with faded unit caps. A mom with a stroller, a retiree with a folding chair, a teenager who has never been to a rally before. More than 2,600 events. Big cities, small towns, the places where you recognize every third face at the grocery store. Is that chaos? Or is that a civics class with better lighting?

Look at the signs. “No thrones, no crowns, no kings.” Short. Clear. Some held up calls for term limits, judicial independence, free speech, voting access, reproductive rights. You may not agree with every plank. That’s fine. But can you hear the rhythm underneath all of it? Don’t let one person sit above the rules. Don’t let fear do the talking. Don’t turn neighbors into enemies because it looks tough on a podium. Isn’t that as basic as it gets?

I know the pushback already. “It’s a hate-America rally.” Really? Do people who hate their country bring their kids and teach them the First Amendment on a Saturday? Do they hand out water, check on elders, and tie yellow ribbons on light poles to help families find each other? Patriotism doesn’t mean silence. It means care. It means you love this place enough to argue with it in public and still go home ready to do your part tomorrow. Tell me what’s un-American about that.

Here’s another hard question: Do protests even work? Not in a day. That’s the wrong scale. Movements are not microwaves. They’re slow cookers. Things change when officials feel the temperature in the room rise and realize voters are paying attention. Things change when a senator who’s been on the fence starts getting calls from the same area code all week. Things change when local councils pass guardrails that keep national power from flooding the block. If you’ve ever fixed a house with a bad foundation, you know how this goes. You shore up the beams. You add braces. You stop the slow damage before it becomes collapse. Boring? Maybe. Necessary? Absolutely.

This is also about the shutdown that’s grinding people down right now. Federal workers are neighbors, not chess pieces. When paychecks vanish, the rent doesn’t. Airports still need staffing. Food still needs inspection. Parks don’t tend themselves. What lesson does a long shutdown teach a family that’s doing everything right and still can’t plan the month? It teaches them they’re disposable. That’s not tough leadership. That’s neglect. And neglect always lands on the same people first: the working class, the sick, the young, and the elderly. Why should any of us accept that?

Let’s talk about the word that scares everyone: authoritarian. Is it too strong? It should be. It’s a big word with sharp edges. But what word would you use when executive power keeps stretching and the showmanship keeps swelling? When troops get sent into cities that didn’t ask for them? When raids play on loop like campaign ads? When the style of governing feels like performance first, rule of law second? If the shoe doesn’t fit, great. But if it keeps fitting, how long do we pretend it doesn’t?

The founders weren’t perfect, but they were very clear on this one point: no crown here. Power is a loan, not an inheritance. It has terms. It has limits. It comes with a return date. That’s why today matters. Not because chanting solves a budget or signs end a raid. Today matters because it refreshes the contract in public. It tells every official, red or blue, “We’re awake. We’re counting. We’re not going anywhere.” Isn’t that the heart of a republic?

I keep thinking about Thomas Paine’s bluntness: proof should be public if belief is required. You can disagree with his theology or praise it, but you can’t miss the point. Claims that bind all of us need evidence all of us can see. Apply that standard to leadership. If a leader claims to stand for everyone, we should see it. In budgets. In appointments. In how power is used when no one is watching. If what we see doesn’t match the claim, what else are we supposed to do besides show up and say, “No”?

There’s also the science of crowds that quietly backs what we’re doing. Researchers have pointed out for years that broad, nonviolent participation changes outcomes more often than not when it hits a certain threshold. Not because crowds intimidate, but because they reveal reality. They tell leaders, “You misread the room.” And they tell silent citizens, “You’re not alone.” Have you ever noticed how your shoulders settle when you realize your private worry is shared by a million others? That feeling is power rediscovered. It’s not abstract. It’s human.

So what happens tomorrow? Calls. Emails. Donations. Local meetings. Poll work. Registration drives. Letters to the editor. Quiet talks with family members who don’t agree but respect you enough to listen. None of that goes viral, and that’s fine. Democracy is a lot of ordinary days stitched together by courage. Will you get tired? Of course. Will some friends roll their eyes and tell you none of it matters? Probably. Ask them a simple question: if nothing matters, why does power work so hard to keep you home?

I’ll end with the line that brought us here: “In America, we don’t do kings.” Say it out loud and test how it feels in your mouth. Does it taste like defiance? Maybe a little. Mostly it tastes like home. It reminds you that this country belongs to people who clock in and love their kids and pay sales tax on milk. It belongs to new citizens who learned the oath by heart. It belongs to soldiers and pacifists, clergy and atheists, immigrants and the great-great-grandchildren of immigrants. It belongs to you. Isn’t that the whole point?

If today left you hopeful, hold on to it. If it left you angry, turn that into work that helps. If it left you confused, ask better questions and keep asking until the answers line up with the facts. But please, don’t go numb. Don’t shrug and say, “That’s just how it is.” We tried that for too long. Look where it led.

America has no kings. Not yesterday. Not today. Not on our watch.