On a gray fall Saturday in October, the Twin Cities streets echoed with chants of demonstrators carrying signs that read “No Kings.” For some, the phrase is a rallying cry against what they see as the creeping authoritarianism of Donald Trump’s presidency. For others, it blends into a political landscape that feels broken and exhausting.
Recent interviews with 10 Black Minnesotans from Minneapolis, Brooklyn Park, and Bloomington revealed a mix of disillusionment, determination, and weary distance. While few denied that America’s political terrain has shifted, their responses reflected a broader divide in how everyday people engage with power.
At a Cub supermarket, Raheem White sighed at the mention of No Kings Day. “It’s horrible,” he said. “We have a president trying to be a king. But what can we do? He’s been elected twice. For everyday people, it’s like no hope.”
His friend Boss Waite nodded. “It doesn’t matter what the people say anymore,” he said. “It’s what Trump wants. Every day it’s something new, and you can’t even be shocked anymore.”
Their exhaustion mirrored a mood among those who feel their political voice has been muzzled. For some, cynicism is less apathy than self-protection.
“Before Covid, I used to be deep into politics,” White added. “Now I just try to be a good person and live my life.”
At 24, Hope Diamond embodies a generation shaped by pandemic shutdowns, the murder of George Floyd, and political upheaval. She joined the first No Kings Day march but missed the second due to work.
“I’m terrified,” she said. “As a young Black woman, I feel like nothing is set up for me. What little there was is being taken away. Everything feels like it’s falling apart, and I have little control over it.”
Diamond and her friends marched from a rally in Minneapolis toward the State Capitol in St. Paul, but logistical hurdles, parking and crowds tempered the day’s impact. “We shouted, we made our voices heard,” she said. “But sometimes it feels like nobody’s listening.”
Tamra Dalton, 48, had heard of No Kings Day but did not attend. She supports those who do. “I support anybody’s right to protest,” she said. “I don’t think Trump’s bright enough to think about being a king, but he likes popularity and control. The people around him are afraid to disagree, and that’s dangerous.”
“I’ve seen places with kings, no freedom of speech, no freedom of expression. I never want that here.”
Dalton’s concern extends beyond politics to broader equity issues. “Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion … those values affect everyone who isn’t a white man. People with disabilities, women, people of color, everyone is impacted when those values get pushed aside.”
Moses, 41, attended a No Kings rally with his teenage son. (He requested we use only his first name.) “I was there to support them,” he said. “This guy is using everything, the Justice Department, ICE, however he can. The Constitution says everyone has the right to due process. People shouldn’t be thrown out of the country without a hearing.”
For Moses, the solution isn’t just protesting, it’s voting. “Get out and vote,” he urged. “The only thing we can do is vote so someone can say no to him rather than yes. No Kings Day is less spectacle than civic duty, a reminder that democracy only works when people participate.”
For Ahmi Ahmed, 26, activism occurs online. “I support the protesters,” he said. “I posted that there’s no king, power shouldn’t belong to one person.”
Born abroad, Ahmed compared Trump’s America to Middle Eastern monarchies. “In kingdoms, only the family lives well. Everyone else is ignored. That’s not what we want here.”
Mohammed, 35, echoed the value of peaceful expression. “It’s good to go out and express yourself. I’ve seen places with kings … No freedom of speech, no freedom of expression. I never want that here.”
Not everyone finds energy for protest. Giovanni Sharr, who moved from Texas, once believed Trump might bring positive change. “I thought he would be good for the country,” he said, “but I saw the policies: tariffs, ICE … It’s tearing the country apart.”
Now he avoids politics entirely. “I focus on myself because outside of me everything is chaos.”
Another respondent declined to give his name but offered a philosophical view. “Everything in this country is political, you can’t escape it. I believe protests incite violence. We’re all carved from the same blood, Black or white, so why be on each other’s necks?”
Across 10 interviews, a portrait emerged of a community divided by ideology. Some physically protested, some protested online, some simply watched. Yet nearly all agreed: America’s political temperature has reached a dangerous high.
“Trump isn’t just a politician,” Dalton said. “He’s a symbol of control. People are scared to tell him no.”
For others, like Moses, silence is complicity. “If we don’t speak or vote, we give him what he wants, power without limits,” he said.
Hope Diamond and her peers worry that “everything’s falling apart,” yet their participation shows a resilient belief that voices still matter.
The No Kings movement may not rival historic protests in size, but its energy runs deep. It reflects a question across Black communities nationwide: How do you defend democracy when democracy feels out of reach?
For some, the answer is to protest. For others, to vote. And for many, to hold onto hope in a political world that seems determined to test it.
“There is no king,” Ahmed said simply. “That’s why we speak.”
Scott Selmer is a contributing writer for the Minnesota Spokesman-Recorder.