I Protested Trump 1.0 in All Kinds of Ways. Here’s Why I’m Sitting Out This Time.

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Over the past few months, millions of people across the country have poured into the streets to protest the Trump administration, thanks to the organizing efforts of groups like Hands Off and 50501. Sometimes they focus on specific government policies targeting immigrants, tariffs, trans people, and DOGE cuts, but they’re broadly all pro-democracy demonstrations that started with the “People’s March” before Trump’s second inauguration in January.

In previous years, I would have been right there with them, but not this time around. Instead, I smile and wave at the protesters, sometimes raising a fist in solidarity, then I carry on with my day. When I read about them—or the administration’s plummeting approval ratings—I feel strangely unmoved.

Some observers think these protests are more effective than the ones associated with the first Trump administration, namely the 2017 “Women’s March” and the 2020 BLM protests. The main difference seems to be that the earlier iterations had the words women and Black in them, while these are focusing on democracy. The implication is that the earlier protests problematically emphasized identity over democracy and that perhaps that flaw is why we still ended up with a majority of voters signing everyone up for four more years—at least—of Trump. Maybe focusing on identity got us into this mess, or maybe it’s the identities we’ve been focusing on: gender (read: women), race (Black Americans), trans people.

But how can identity alone be the scapegoat when 92 percent of Black women voted for democracy in 2024? When Black people have consistently been the most pro-democracy progressive voting bloc in American history? Maybe the real change in the latest protest movements is simply that 92 percent of Black women are fed up with explaining just how much racism costs all Americans.

The 92 Percent Movement is about Black women taking time for ourselves even during this political crisis, or maybe especially during it. Some have wondered why more Black people aren’t showing at this iteration of anti-Trump rallies. Well, we’re taking a breather, or maybe we’re just sitting this one out altogether. It seems like an inopportune time to be a political wallflower, but it’s not so easy to bounce back from what happened on Nov. 5. We’ve turned inward, drawing support from other Black women, reminding each other of our worth and protecting our mental health. It’s still true what Malcolm X said about Black women being the most disrespected and unprotected in America, so we look out for each other. That’s what Michelle Obama did when she decided to skip Trump’s inauguration and even Jimmy Carter’s funeral, where she would have been seated next to Trump. Nope, not doing it this time.

During an interview with Oprah Winfrey, writer Maya Angelou famously advised, “When people show you who they are, believe them the first time.” I think that applies to countries and electorates too. This wasn’t even the first time, so hopefully we really believe them now. Kamala Harris did not lose in a landslide but she should have won in one as the most qualified candidate in recent history, running against an opponent who couldn’t be more different. It felt like a referendum on women, specifically Black women. It wasn’t just that 8 in 10 Trump voters were white or that 53 percent of white women voters supported him, but that more voters of color were drawn to Trump, including a record number of Latino voters showing support for the Republican candidate.

To be fair, Trump’s fake populism weakened Democratic support across all minority groups, including Asian Americans and Black Americans, with more younger men of color voting Republican than ever before. Basically, the Trump campaign was able to chip away at a coalition Black women thought they could rely on. Everyone has their reasons for how they voted, but it hurt, and the rejection felt personal on some level.

And still, Black women turned out in record numbers to support Harris because we knew just how much was at stake and we wanted to be proud of the role we played in helping to elect America’s first female president, a Black woman. My hands were actually shaking when I cast my ballot because I was so excited to be a part of such a historic day and proud of how far we had come as a nation. By the end of the day, I was reminded where I live. I was reminded of what the majority of Americans think about women, especially Black women, and the deliberate ignorance of the misconduct (and downright criminal behavior) of powerful white men.

Harris’ loss was more than just heartbreaking for us. It provided clarity about just how uninterested America remains in protecting or listening to Black women, and certainly in how little it cares to be run by one. America wants to protect its love affair with white supremacy. At the Democratic National Committee, Rep. Hakeem Jeffries hilariously riffed on a Taylor Swift song when he compared candidate Trump to an old ex-boyfriend who keeps hanging around, saying, “Bro, we broke up with you for a reason. We are never, ever getting back together again.” But here we are, and it sort of feels as if Black women are the third wheel. White America and its allies have to figure out something about themselves that we can’t teach them. They need to realize how whiteness in all its forms—including white supremacy and the way it intersects with democracy—is the biggest identity politics of them all.

I’ve been thinking a lot about George Yancy’s New York Times op-ed “Should I Give Up On White People?,” published two years into Trump’s first presidency. In it, he reflects on the hate mail he received, including detailed death threats, after daring to ask white people to reflect on their racial biases and racism in an earlier piece, called “Dear White America.” Yancy, a Black philosopher, had tried to model radical honesty by acknowledging his own sexism and how being a man affords him privileges compared with Black women. He was calling for white America to, as Luvell Anderson described it, stop believing lies about its history, lies about the havoc whiteness has wreaked and how it weakens democracy. In the end, Yancy decided to focus on the greater good, on the white people who had also reached out to thank him for sharing his thoughts and challenging them to reflect more deeply about their own.

I’m glad that worked for Yancy. But the 92 Percent Movement is not about waiting for white people to finally appreciate the many faces of white supremacy. Being a 92 Percenter means turning inward at this critical moment. That’s not the same as giving up. We are caucusing among ourselves and rallying around those who have been unceremoniously sidelined and cheering on our rising political stars. Through consumer boycotts and “buycotts,” we’re spending with politics in mind. We’re not holding a grudge or licking our wounds—we’re trying to process what seems like a tragic misunderstanding America can’t see its way out of.

At a conference for female leaders, Harris herself spoke about the chilling effect Trump’s turbulent first months back in the Oval Office have had on people afraid to speak out. As a college professor, I see that among students, faculty, and administrators alike, who fear becoming targets. But she also said, with a laugh, “I’m not here to say ‘I told you so.’ ” Some folks have been asking her to do and say more, as if she ought to be one of the leaders of an anti-Trump push, despite literally being the main person trying to defeat him in the first place. She likely will not be that leader—and it’s not a chilling effect that has her and other Black women sitting this one out. We’re not afraid. We’re just reclaiming our time.