The Children of Antifa

I saw a little kid, screaming at the top of their lungs today, “my best friend is an immigrant! You can’t take them away!” over and over again.

I took a few pictures today, but not of little kids. Just this one because you can’t see their face. I just wish you could’ve seen it.

The little girl who made a K Pop Demon Hunters protest sign. The little girl screaming, “Black Lives Matter!” And getting a chant going. The little boy with his Nope sign, spelling the E with a crown.

I’ve got so many deep memories from demonstrations, protests, and direct actions and confrontations I’ve been in. A lot of those memories are horrible.

The last No Kings demonstration, what stuck with me was the echo in the canyons of Manhattan, enough that I wrote flash fiction about it.

Today? It’s all the kids and elderly folks in Brooklyn, who didn’t make it to the city but who nonetheless were among thousands making their voices heard.

I don’t care who thinks it’s corny or futile. Those kids all cared enough to speak up for what’s right and try. And that kid screaming for their best friend, that’s seared into my heart forever.

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