I was honored to speak for a few minutes during Saturday’s No Kings event in Charlotte, North Carolina. I asked the estimated 7,000 people in attendance at First Ward Park to use the event not as a one-off, but as a starting point.
More on what I said and saw in a moment.
The Driver
I took an Uber from my hotel (I’m in North Carolina for a few days, more posts coming) to the rally site. I like to talk to drivers, they almost always have an interesting story. Saturday morning was no different.
The driver, a young man (I’ll leave his name out,) is from Venezuela. He moved to the states to see political asylum after escaping the Maduro regime. “I can’t go home again. I can’t go back to Venezuela, and if I leave here, they won’t let me back in.” A more common story everyday from people trying to make a better life, who’ve followed the rules, or were promised a place here, like so many of Afghans who assisted American forces and are now being denied the right to stay here.
“What needs to happen for Venezuela to change?”
“The people need to change the way they’re thinking. They need to believe that the country they want it possible. Right now, they don’t think about it, so they don’t believe it.”
The Crowd
This summer, I went to the No Kings rally in Salt Lake City, Utah. There were thousands of people on the campus of the University of Utah. The crowd in Charlotte was bigger, (certainly) more diverse, and featured far more young people than I’d expected. The homemade signs are always fun to see; folks are clever and funny.
The vibe was far more upbeat than I’d recalled from earlier in the year. There was music, the people were laughing and smiling, the mood was joyous. Far from an angry rabble, the Queen City turned out on a beautiful autumn day with good energy and determination.
The volunteers from Indivisible Charlotte responsible for wrangling the speakers had learned from their previous experiences. They had schedules, timetables, radios, different colored vests for different responsibilities, plenty of bottled water and homemade chocolate chip cookies. The smiles on their faces were infectious (and the cookies were excellent.)
My Remarks
A three minute speech is much harder than a 10 minute speech. Ten minutes gives you time to flesh out your arguments, hit your points several times, and ad lib when the mood strikes or the opportunity presents itself. Three minutes is like poetry: You hope every word you utter means something to the people listening.
Aside from Saturday being the largest crowd I’d probably spoken to (either ever or in a very long time) I recognized about a minute into speaking that the attendees were looking for a call and response.
I can’t remember exactly what I said, but here’s the part I wrote down ahead of time:
It took us a long time to get here, and it will take us a long time to get out. The first thing we need to do is change the way we think. Until we change the way we think and what we believe, we won’t be able to make our work real. So have y’all thought about what needs to happen? Now is the time to act. Enjoy today as a celebration of millions of Americans who love our country and believe in a better tomorrow. Tomorrow, the work begins. We must commit ourselves to getting up every day and doing one thing. That’s all it takes. One thing to make your neighborhood better. Your community better. We’re going to need to hold onto each other for a while. And many of our moms and dads, sons and daughters, brothers and sisters will need help, too. What you take from here, take home with you. Remember the admonition of Admiral James Stockdale: We must 100% understand the situation we’re in. We must also maintain the belief, completely, that we will ultimately prevail.”
Why do I talk to people? Because they so often tell you what you need to hear.
Beautiful, heartfelt & ‘right on’, speech. Three minutes of impact. Bravo.
Glad you reported this!