San Clemente wasn't taking any crap
They say it's a conservative stronghold. They say MAGA owns the landscape. Well, no one told 2,500 patriotic Californians fighting for democracy.
The wife and I drove to San Clemente Saturday afternoon.
We did so because word had it there would be a pro-democracy rally—one of hundreds taking place across the nation.
But, really, who knew what would actually unfold? San Clemente is an Orange County Republican stronghold. It’s super red, super MAGA, super the type of town where restaurant owners went out of their way to defy mask mandates during Covid. It’s a place where locating a Trump flag is about as hard as locating a fish taco; a place where the musical tastes run much more Lee Greenwood than Dua Lipa.
The wife and I drove to San Clemente Saturday afternoon—because democracy friggin’ matters. And in this destabilized period of time, when Donald Trump and his crypt of brainwashed Storm Troopers aim to burn it all to the ground, most of the folks I know have grown exhausted waiting to be rescued by Chuck Schumer, Hakeem Jeffries and the shockingly impotent/neutered elected officials we had hoped might step up.
So … San Clemente.
The wife and I.
Democracy.
We arrived around 3 o’clock for this event, which was organized by the Democratic Women of South Orange County …
… and, I must say, the bottom-of-the flyer line—“We hope to see 500 protesters”—felt overly optimistic. I mean, 500 people? In San Clemente? For what was, at its core, an anti-Trump march? Nah. No way in hell. Nope.
But as we approached the listed address, my wife turned to me and said, “This looks pretty big.”
And … well, holy, holy, hoooooooly, HOLY CRAP!
Here is, literally, what we encountered …
There were people. And more people. And more people. And more people. And more more more more more people. Up and down the street. On the grass. Crossing at lights. During my past life as a baseball beat writer for Sports Illustrated, I sometimes had to estimate crowd sizes, and ultimately became fairly skilled at the task. With that as a backdrop, I would say there were, oh, 2,500 folks lining Camino De Los Mares.
Plenty were senior citizens. Some were teens. There were parents with their kids, grandparents with their grandchildren. There were American flags (which, when not being hugged by fascists, still feel patriotic) and signs aplenty with messages like, BRAVE AMERICANS DIED FOR WHAT TRUMP IS TAKING AWAY and WE WILL NOT SURRENDER and AN EVIL MAN WILL BURN HIS NATION TO THE GROUND TO RULE OVER THE ASHES. Multiple folks dressed as clowns. One man hoisted a Trump piñata from his shoulders. Veterans wore their military caps. A slew of females broke out the ol’ knit vagina hats. I met three older women sitting side by side by side, one of whom looked at me and snarled, “Grandmas don’t take this crap.” My wife noted, repeatedly, how inspiring it was to see so many elders—folks who know whereof they speak—bringing the heat, still invested and engaged.
Oh, and the honking! So much honking! Cars passed and blared their support. It felt electrifying. Each beep! beep! a burst of righteousness; a reminder that we are not alone; an urging to keep it up, to keep plugging away.
For me and the wife, the march was a reaffirmation of … hmm, what’s the right word? Spirit. Power. Passion. It’s natural to get down these days, just as it was (surely) natural to get down during the Great Depression, McCarthyism, the Civil Rights Era, the Nixon reign, on and on and on. Oftentimes, it’s admittedly easier to eat a chunk of Graham Central Station and watch “Love is Blind”1 than to step up and brawl.
But the rally felt (simple word alert) good. Really g-o-o-d. Like a scream upon reaching the top of a mountain. Like exhaling after holding your breath under water. And you, dear reader, need to know that you are not alone. There are others feeling the way you feel, and the rally served as a bullet point that, somehow, we will get through this. Seriously—we will. I promise.
More than anything, for me, the event emphasized that we have been presented two options at this moment in history:
A. Stay home, bask in the sunshine, pretend America is fine and act surprised when your neighbor has been deported, when your alma mater no longer offers a Black History course, when the news sources you once trusted repeat, ad nauseam, that Donald Trump is brilliant and wonderful and perfect and should be obeyed.
Or …
B. Fight. Fucking fight. Fight on the local level. Fight on the national level. Gather together and make our representatives know that we are officially rolling up our sleeves and firing off Joe Frazier hooks to the body. Attend meetings. Attend marches. Call out the hypocrisy. Let the MAGA folks know that they are not the majority; that they are doomed to fail; that democracy has faced far more intelligent threats than Trump and his lightweight bobo brigade of tap-dancing douchebags.
Earlier this week, I attended the monthly Aliso Viejo City Council meeting, during which (what amounted to) a City Hall Pride flag ban was debated. Most local political observers figured it would pass, what with the council’s right lean and the shifting MAGA tides and all.
But then, hundreds of folks showed up to speak their minds—and the measure burned to the ground and failed.
I repeat: It burned to the ground and failed.
Well, on a warm Saturday in the Trump stronghold of San Clemente, 2,500 people showed up to speak their minds.
They were loud.
They were feisty.
They were united.
They are the reason the MAGA movement will burn to the ground and fail.
They are the reason democracy prevails.
PS: This is Linda Verraster, co-president of the Democratic Women of South Orange County and an event organizer. She’s an absolute gangster …
PPS: This guy was driving past the rally, honking and being obnoxious. And it’s actually a reminder—like Trump, these folks are neither funny nor clever. They exist to troll.
I’m so happy for Daniel and Taylor.
Huntington Beach showed up today too! Lots of folks on Main and PCH.
Thank you so much for what you are doing to help save this country!