The No Kings March in NYC

Navigating the No Kings march, aggressive typography, and the sheer impossibility of crossing Seventh Avenue.

Navigating Midtown Manhattan on a weekend is an exercise in pure futility. You add a massive political protest to the mix, and it instantly becomes a tactical military operation. (Where I also have no exit strategy.)

I walk out of my apartment and over to Seventh Avenue, towards the giant Margaritaville and the NYC Megamart. A river of thick winter coats, beanies, and hand-painted cardboard completely blocks my path. It is the No Kings march.

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As a cartoonist, I naturally critique the signage. The typography is aggressive and highly legible. One massive sign reads “NO KINGS! NO ILLEGAL WARS! NO ICE TERROR! NO VOTER INTIMIDATION!”. A woman in the centre of the crowd proudly holds a bright yellow poster declaring she is the grandchild of an immigrant and the child of a World War Two vet. Another marcher carries a blue sign reminding everyone that our neighbours make this a more beautiful city, and another has a photo of Trump with his mouth as a cat’s arsehole. A person in a black coat hoists a white placard stating that those who can make you believe absurdities can make you commit atrocities.

The crowd is dense. The energy is highly charged. People chant and march down the avenue while tourists stare blankly from the sidewalk. I stand at the corner and calculate my odds of successfully crossing the street. The mathematics are not in my favour. You cannot fight a human tide of righteous anger. You simply surrender to the current.

I joined the march for four blocks just so I could reach the subway, but also in solidarity. I, like everyone else in Trump’s hometown, despise the guy.