Photo Essay: Parade and Protest Split Capital in Two

Editor’s note: Gargoyle reporter Logan Johnson spent summer 2025 interning in Washington D.C. at the Laslo Congressional Bureau. She sent in this essay chronicling her experiences at Trump’s 250th military anniversary parade and the protests that surrounded it.

By Logan Johnson

WASHINGTON D.C. — June 14, America’s capital city was rife with political fervor from every corner of the ideological aisle. The cobbled grey streets of the early morning, strewn with servicemen loafing around street corners and bus stops and metro stations, waited anxiously for Trump’s 250^th military anniversary parade to call them to their post. Meanwhile, a light drizzle filled the city’s potholes with nothing but a sardonic reassurance: this was the calm before the storm.

Everyone knew the city would erupt into bustling passion afternoon-onward, and yet, no one seemed all that phased by it. Every businessman suited beyond his means walked with the same self-important attitude; every breakfast joint worker served food with the same, ‘I’ll be right there with you’ expression; every poor homeless person still lined the streets, asking society “Why? What makes me different? Can’t you extend some humanity?”

No one dared answer that question. Nothing changed. Rain kept falling.

The same metropolitan residents who, in their silence, answer ‘no’ to the kind homeless man who’s lived on their street for years, are almost assuredly the same residents whose answer is ‘no’ to the father being dragged away by ICE, and who’s answer would have certainly been ‘no’ to the poor Jewish boy asking for refuge in their attic. The Prescence of some fanatical parade wouldn’t change this fact. It’s hard to imagine what would.

Like any city, however, sentiments are diverse. This quaint little Saturday, host to Trump’s birthday and his extravagant military parade, had another notable guest in its midst: the ‘No Kings’ protests. This wave of demonstrations was orchestrated by the 50501 movement — a decentralized network of activists around the country, coordinating protests in all 50 states on a single day in hundreds of cities.

By holding demonstrations all throughout the nation, activists sought to drown out media coverage of Trump’s military parade with an alternative narrative of popular dissent. To this end, ‘No Kings’ organizers decided to stray away from D.C. entirely, taking away the president’s spotlight, and evading potential conflict with armed servicemen considering Trump’s militarization of Los Angeles – an admittedly frightening possibility.

Regardless of 50501’s decision to leave D.C. out of the nationwide mobilization, other organizations still took it upon themselves to protest Trump’s military parade directly.

At roughly 1 p.m., a group by the name of ‘Refuse Fascism,’ a front group for the ‘Revolutionary Communist Party, USA,’ gathered upwards of 1,000 demonstrators at a public park for a rally and march to the white house.

Susana Taylor, a spokesperson for Refuse Fascism and a communist party member, spoke at the rally, urging Americans to “drag this regime from power through massive nonviolent sustained struggle.”

The boldness of the idea — and the daring nature of this call to action — echoed through the park.

Since his first inauguration in 2017, opposition to Trump’s presidency has largely been orchestrated through legal, liberal channels. Intellectuals have called for the need to impeach and remove the president from office, (which has proved ineffective) and democratic party officials have urged voters to turnout in the midterms to impede his executive agenda via legislative roadblock. Democratic spokespeople, politicians, and the middleclass liberal have never once ceded ground, even to the idea, of Trump being removed from office through popular revolt. That’s not how we do things in America.

Thus, to hear an activist call for the toppling of the Trump administration, and to hear a thousand people cheer at the idea — is jolting.

The sound of struggling workers demanding the downfall of their regime — while military personnel line the streets of a city like Los Angeles, is a chime all-too familiar to history’s closest listeners.

The rally wasn’t entirely revolutionary fervor, however. Sophia Zoe Kilmer, a practicing attorney, trans rights advocate, and trans person herself, took the stage with a doleful urgency.

For the last several presidential cycles, mainstream conservative politics has singled out transgender people as a political enemy to be defeated. To advocates like Kilmer, these actions forecast an uneasy fate for trans folk soon-to-come.

Kilmer spoke specifically of Trump’s trans military ban, which has left former trans servicemembers a discharge code labeling them threats to national security. This follows an also-alarming decision by Trump’s Department of Homeland Security, allowing for individuals to be surveilled and investigated solely for being homosexual or transgender. From the very beginning of the administration, the targeting of queer people through executive order has left the trans community afraid, and fear has consequences.

The young trans-American who watches state legislatures attack their healthcare, and who worries about their politically active peers being monitored by a growing police state, and who sees the U.S. military mark their friends and family with the code of a criminal or communist, must feel a fear similar to the young Jewish girl. The young Jewish girl who stared up at the propaganda plastered in the alleys, wondering why all the posters said such mean things about her family. The young Jewish girl who wondered why she didn’t feel safe walking home anymore.

“Fascism starts with an easily othered people that you don’t understand,” Kilmer told the crowd.

After an hour of speeches, chants, and rallying calls to action, the demonstrators mobilized into a march on the white house. Immediately, foreign news outlets like Korean news agency MBC (Munhwa Broadcasting Corporation) swarmed the demonstrators; there was a distinct lack of domestic news outlets. As America’s politics intensify, constitutional precedent is broken, and demonstrators ramp up opposition to public officials, the rest of the world watches closely.

At roughly 3 p.m., the demonstrators reached the white house for a final rallying call. Then, under Washington’s deafening heat, the protests dissolved, and D.C. got quiet.

The march, while energetic, passionate, and poised with self-prescribed purpose, carried an anti-climactic presence. In a showcase of power and television gusto, Trump promised that those protesting his military parade would “be met with very big force.” Such a threat carried weight; if our military excursions in the middle east have taught us anything, it’s that threats from the President of the United States of America should be taken seriously — for the most part.

Now imagine the reaction of D.C. residents, fearing violent crackdowns in their city, when these protesters took to the streets anyway — and nothing happened. Color me shameless, but I don’t think bicycle cops tailing marchers around intersections and roundabouts constitutes ‘very big force.’ They called his bluff. And that’s funny.

Since the morning, I had been travelling with another independent journalist staying in D.C. at the time, James Phillips. For the sake of our safety, we decided to brave the day’s events together; I shot photos and he zipped around the crowd talking to demonstrators and organizers — it was a nice ordeal.

Following the afternoon’s protests, Phillips suggested we head back and rest before the parade that evening — an invaluable suggestion I would not have reached, nevertheless allowed myself to carry out, alone. So, I scuttled off back home.

As I sat in my shabby, cluttered D.C. dorm, I couldn’t help but feel a latent anxiety. The promised platoon parade was unlike anything I had seen before – I had nothing to go off – nothing to anticipate – no way to predict. Boots of swarming servicemen in my mind struck me with visions of coordinated German forces striding through Polish streets; treads of tanks akin to the legion of bulldozers flattening Gaza – I could only sit and imagine the worst, reminded of history’s most vile mistakes.

Could America really be heading that way? Are the political theorists right about Fascism’s new media makeup style, or are they wrong? Is this some new evil, entirely unpredicted by history’s hindsight? Do we have any idea where the American project is hurdling, or will we just burn inside it with no bearing on the vessel’s treacherous course? I was at an utter loss.

Funnily enough, the administration’s supporters were no less confused – confused on how to enter the parade. I don’t blame them, either. For miles, me and Phillips waded through a crowd of directionless patriots, guided by ambiguous signs, poorly crafted barricades, and frustrated officers burdened with the job of a teenager at the county fair.

At the very least, my fear of authoritarianism was sidelined by the task ahead of me: move through this sweaty MAGA mess, get to the parade, and take it in.

Stepping back from the inherent politics of the evening, the parade’s planning was a mess. Lines stretched miles with hopeful attendees packing entire roadways in what looked more like a disorganized flock rummaging through a city than eager families on a patriotic outing. Sparsely placed law enforcement and the occasional soldier sat at street corners yelling at paradegoers to form poorly defined lines – as if anyone could move. Meanwhile, boisterous families broke through barricades, cutting into local parks and leading hundreds of people through muddy terrain and fragile flora – to the likely dismay of the local landscaper.

Once in the venue, America’s finest were welcomed to what Rolling Stone dubbed a “gross failure.” Chain link fences wrapped around the event’s exterior, separating tanks and soldiers from tiresome, grimy civilians. Civilians who, in their glee, gratitude, and patriotism, cheered as military vehicles drove by – military vehicles that, with their treads, made a harrowing screeching sound – a sound only produced by industrial machinery grinding against city gravel – a sound reminiscent of middle eastern women, children and martyrs abroad who – like the Los Angelinos, cry out in heartbreak while the world keeps cheering.

Of course, not every attendee could stand in mud for hours cheering for vehicles that could really use some WD 40 – there simply wasn’t enough room. For everyone else, they got to enjoy the Washington Monument’s grounds set up like a music festival: a large, open field with towering screens on the horizon depicting the parade, advertisements, and Trump himself.

After about 30 minutes there Phillips left early – by this point it was 8: p.m. and the less enthusiastic parade-goers began to funnel out. Ensuring I had the photos I wanted, I followed suit.

As I walked to the closest metro station I couldn’t help but feel a lingering tension in the air. On this day, June 14, 2025, America’s capital city was split in two: those fond of the President, our military, and the nation gathered from around the union to celebrate, while cities across the land, including D.C., erupted into protest and civil disobedience. Animosity between America’s political camps was at an all-time high, and I simply couldn’t imagine things sizzling down.

Finally making some distance between myself and the capital’s mayhem, I approached a street vendor, bought an overpriced Gatorade, and got on the metro home.