These were the words that did it, that knocked the composure out of me. I was standing at what felt like the heart of Chicago on a January afternoon, corner of Wabash and Wacker, next to the river and beneath the tower known as Trump. The crowd had swelled by this time to nearly a thousand.
I kept looking up at the letters. They were two stories high: TRUMP. Smugly in command of God knows what — the whole world? As their presence became ever more unbearable, the speaker’s words suddenly pulled me back into the present moment. They put the matter as simply as possible. They were what brought us all down here, clustered together in the bitter wind: THE PEOPLE DO NOT WANT WAR.
There was no “unless” attached to this statement. The raw simplicity tore me open. I burst into tears as the wind cut through me.
This was Jan. 4. It was one of 70 protests across the country the day after Trump ordered a drone strike that “took out” (as the media love to put it) Iranian Major Gen. Qassim Soleimani as he was leaving the Baghdad airport in a two-car convoy. Some dozen people were killed in total. It was, as the world grasped in stunned disbelief, an act of war.