The Long Way to the Megaphone
Figuring out how to help in the age of "what do we do now"
Adrift After the Work
After the campaign ended, I found myself adrift — untethered from purpose, floating in the strange quiet that comes after giving everything to something bigger than yourself. I was more burned out than I wanted to admit — but I’d also seen firsthand how urgent the work ahead would be. I felt a deep pull to stay part of the fight in any way I could. So I started signing up everywhere.
I took webinars, finished PT, and filled notebooks with half-formed plans.
December through January 20th, I felt full of potential. I applied to NASA, ACLU, the Senate, the City of Philadelphia, NatGeo — anywhere mission-driven. But after January 20th — the grief of the reality of a Trump 2.0 timeline settled in — I slid from denial into full-on depression.
Applications, Algorithms, and the Ache of Being Ghosted
I got the rejection from NASA — not because I wasn’t qualified, but because the Department of Government Oversight and Execution (DOGE) halted all hiring. I’d made it to the next round and had high hopes— right before they got their grubby little paws everywhere.
More ghosted applications.
More dead-end interviews.
More panic pressing into my chest.
I started to wonder:
What do I do now? Do I stay in this fight? Do I take a private sector job and hope it doesn’t hollow me out?
What’s realistic?
What would make me happy?
Trying Everything, Getting Nowhere
I kept spinning my wheels. Applying. Feeling worthless. I knew that no one person could save America from a fascist resurgence — that this work is long, arduous, thankless. But my heart? It was pounding like a fist against the walls of my chest, screaming: I TRIED to save democracy. I gave everything I had. WHAT DID I DO WRONG?
Still the machine rolled forward, life went on, and the weather warmed. Cory Booker broke the filibuster record and cracked open a sliver of hope. My partner and I joined the Hands Off! rally in Philadelphia on April 5th with his brother, family, and friends. I listened to the chant leaders , joined in as loudly as I could, and thought, not for the first time: How do I get to do that?
I’d been signing up for everything. My inbox had become a graveyard of newsletters, alerts, and calls to action. I was overwhelmed by options — so I pivoted.
From Substack to the Sidewalk
One night, raw and restless, I started this Substack. I wanted to speak again. Writing has always been how I sort my thoughts — or more accurately, the one place I still felt confident.
Somewhere between the Substack posts and the heartbreak, I kept showing up to virtual events — Virtual RootsCamp. Arena’s Power Building Retreat, volunteer calls. I didn’t know what I was supposed to be doing — but I listened. I learned how other organizers moved, how they talked about power, how they held space. I wanted to do that too.
That’s around the time Indivisible started organizing the No Kings Day protest.
The Call, the Chants, the Crowd
I considered hosting a rally. I immediately chickened out. Who is going to listen to this nobody in Ardmore? I thought. Still I joined the calls, marked my calendar. When the email came asking for various types of volunteers: chant leaders, Colonial costume-wearers, rally marshals, and cleanup crew. I clicked “Yes” on everything I knew I could do. I signed up to chant, to marshal, to do whatever was needed.
So when the chance finally came to lead chants at the No Kings rally, I realized I was ready. And then I got the email:
They wanted me to be a chant leader.
I screamed. I mean, I actually screamed. I’ve always loved performing, writing, making up rhymes and slogans — even just daydreaming about what I’d say if I ever got the mic in front of a crowd. One-liners to the media. Zingers at the orange clown himself. You know, cringy acts of imagined rebellion.
I immediately got to writing. I crafted chants and mini-speeches in one night. Imagining how they’d work with crowds. Clapping out the rhythm and finding that sweet spot between catchy and easy to repeat.
Nervously, I asked the organizers if I could send them some of my own. They said yes — and were incredibly enthusiastic and supportive. So I sent them three pages.
A few days later, we got the official chant sheet. Some of my chants were on it.
Volunteers would be memorizing my original chants.
“No kings! No crowns! We the People run this town.”
“Let freedom ring — all the way to DC!”
The Day Of
On Saturday morning, I woke up vibrating with excitement. I’d been prepping for over a week. Nothing left to do but makeup, final checks, and head out the door.
I wore all black, combat boots, glittery punk makeup. Armor someone once told me didn’t “work” for me — but I was taking it back. I showed up to the Art Museum first. They needed last minute volunteers to help with the giant flag behind the stage, so I coordinated with team leads to be placed in front of the march — that way I could help with chants and get back in time to relieve some flag holders.
I walked down to Love Park — almost tracing the rally route in reverse. Along the way, one heckler in a pickup truck shouted “Trump! Trump! Trump’s the best!”
I didn’t even look at him. Just said,
“You have the right to be wrong. It’s your right to be wrong.”
And kept walking.
Love Park was a sea of signs and people. I met the team by the LOVE sign, where another group was singing a protest version of “YMCA.” I laughed at the chorus — “T-A-C-O!” — and joined in through my megaphone.
Sometimes you just have to sing, dance, and be silly to shake off the nerves and jazz the crowd. One girl did the best worm I’ve ever seen.
Our chant lead arrived with spare megaphones and printed chant sheets. I offered up extra batteries and electrolytes to the crew — happy to share with my new team. After relaying the plan from the organizers, my team lead saw my outfit and said, “You’re dressed for it!” and put me in front.
I asked her to show me how to do this — and she did. We started chants together, and then I was sent into the crowd and the streets to rally people. We eventually moved again after realizing another nonprofit had set up near our corner to do speeches and petition drives. I didn’t want to drown anyone out — I wanted to amplify.
We stood with the Pride flags and shouted:
“NO KINGS — YAS QUEENS!”
After that, things blurred. I remember one moment — chanting with everything in me — and the media cameras swarming.
Another moment, halfway to the Rocky Steps I shouted into my megaphone:
“WHAT MESSAGE DO WE HAVE FOR THE BIRTHDAY BOY?!”
The Crowd instantly responded: “FUCK DONALD TRUMP!”
I growled into the bullhorn:
“PHILLY — MAKE YOUR VOICES HEARD. LET THAT FREEDOM RING OVER THE MARCH OF THEIR FASCIST BOOTS!”
It felt visceral. Evangelical. A spark catching flame.
Of course, I stumbled a bit. Some chants didn’t land. A few times my rhythms were off. It was my first time and I’m proud.
We reached the Rocky Steps, and I rushed to see if I could help with the flag. Turns out the steps were too slick, and the team decided to keep it arranged on raised partitions to avoid injury. Sp I stood and listened as Martin Luther King III and Congressman Jamie Raskin spoke.
From the top of those steps, I looked back across a crowd of 100,000.
A sea of faces, flags, and signs — stretching nearly a mile, all the way back to Love Park.
Loud and Proud
I left that day sore, blistered, and elated. I saved every photo and video I could find of myself. I was a little embarrassed — how raw my voice sounded, how passionate I looked. Was it too much? Was I too loud? Too intense? Not a chance.
The support I’ve received — from friends, family, and total strangers — has filled my heart. I showed myself that I’ve become the woman little Lauren always dreamed of being:
A strong female character.
Who fights with tooth and nail.
Who doesn’t let failure or fascism win.
Who wants to help build the version of America we were promised existed — where life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness is attainable for everyone.
I don’t know what my exact role in this movement is yet —but I know I belong here.
One thing’s certain: I won’t stop showing up. Next time, I’ll be even louder.
The Next Steps
If you’re still figuring out where you fit in this fight — I feel you. Most of us are there. We’re angry, exhausted, one paycheck away from dire circumstances. We wonder if we’re needed, or if anyone would even listen if we spoke out.
I’m here to tell you that what you’re feeling is totally normal and that you are needed. Your voice matters and you don’t have to have it all figured out to start showing up. Courage is contagious.
This was my first time chant-leading. I made mistakes. I got loud. I got blisters on my feet from forgetting that I haven’t worn combat boots in a long time. I kept going.
One concrete action this week:
Indivisible held a “What’s Next” Zoom call. It was so packed they had to livestream it on YouTube. Here are a few meaningful calls to action.
Show them we’re watching. Call your reps. Join a phone bank. Send an op-ed into your local paper.
Stop the “Big Beautiful Bill.” It’s a Trojan horse of authoritarianism. It does not speak for us.
Build power for the long haul: This is about more than one protest. It’s about protecting democracy, fighting disinformation, and creating a just and inclusive future. That means committing now to what comes next.
Two dates to mark:
June 28 – #MuskMustFall On Elon Musk’s birthday, June 28th, let’s give a birthday gift to the cringiest loser on the planet. A global party with one powerful message: Musk Must Fall. teslatakedown.com
July 17 – John Lewis National Day of Action Good Trouble Lives On is a national day of action to respond to the attacks on our civil and human rights by the Trump administration. Focused on racial justice, voting rights, and the soul of our democracy we’re going to take peaceful, non-violent action to challenge injustice and create meaningful change.
RSVP here or learn more: goodtroubleliveson.org
Visit https://www.nokings.org/next for more actions, websites, and trainings for the fight against authoritarianism.
If you’re organizing something and need a chant-writer, a megaphone, or just someone to help hold the line — I’m here. Let’s build something together.
I didn't think I could ever be more proud of you than when you joined the Biden/Harris campaign and gave it everything you had; yet here we are, just about a year later, staring down the barrel of the dystopian fascist future that all our favorite stories tried to warn us about, freedom after freedom being stripped away - and you stand, unflinching, a shining platinum blonde and purple shield, chanting and roaring in glorious liberty, daring them to try and silence you. Defending not just those like you, but everyone who isn't - all of us you know are struggling just to make it through the day without seeing yet another news story about the ongoing debate over whether we have the right to even exist outside their binary.
You are awe inspiring, and there isn't a single doubt in my mind that you are going to change the world.