Did you ignore the word "armed" on purpose?
The part you chose not to read clearly explained that I don't think any of Jan 6 was necessary either. But, as usual, throw out a whataboutism without reading what I typed.
First of all, I realized I left out “armed” and almost edited the post to add that in. I did not intentionally leave it out and should have included it. @Upgrayedd’s post mentioning Kyle Rittenhouse was a better example than Jan 6.
Secondly, I went back and read your novella. I saw no mention of Jan 6 explicitly or implicitly. Maybe I missed it in that wall of text.
Third, if you’re going to ask hard questions of people in the street, you also have to ask hard questions of power.
You framed your piece as an invitation to think clearly, not to abandon values. I want to respond in that same spirit, but from the opposite direction: there is a deeply American, moral, and patriotic duty to refuse quiet compliance when the state uses force in our name. That duty does not evaporate because protest is messy, risky, or uncomfortable. In a free society, the risk of public resistance belongs in the cost of doing government, not solely in the cost of being governed.
The right to protest is not an emotional outlet we generously indulge when convenient; it is one of the primary mechanisms by which ordinary people check power between elections. It exists precisely because the law, the courts, and the ballot box are slow, imperfect, and often captured by the same institutions people are protesting. If we only speak up where it is tidy, scheduled, and pre-approved, then we haven’t limited abuse of power; we’ve simply made sure it can proceed without any visible friction.
You ask, “What business is this of mine, right now, in this moment?” In a constitutional republic, the answer is: every act of state power is your business. When the government arrests, detains, deports, or kills in public view, it is doing so as your agent and in your name. “I am not directly involved” is not neutrality; it is consent by silence. You may choose not to be present, but you cannot claim that what happens in your city, under your flag, with your tax dollars, is none of your concern.
You place heavy emphasis on personal responsibility for protesters: Would I house this person, feed them, sponsor them, vouch for them? That’s an important moral examination, but it is only half of the ledger. The other half is: what responsibility do I bear if I stand by while human beings are treated as disposable problem sets at the edge of our laws? If I wouldn’t take someone into my home, does that absolve me of any duty to question whether they deserve to be shot in the street, warehoused indefinitely, or disappeared into a system I know is fallible and sometimes cruel? There is a vast moral space between “adopt them into my living room” and “let the state do whatever it wants without witnesses.”
You suggest that laws change through courts, elections, and legislation, not “street interference.” But history in this country suggests something more complicated. Legal change often follows years of inconvenient, disruptive, morally insistent presence by people who refused to wait quietly. Lunch counters didn’t desegregate because everyone stayed home and funded legal aid. Child labor laws, worker protections, women’s suffrage, civil rights: none of these moved forward because ordinary citizens trusted that if they just stayed out of the way and wrote polite letters, the system would repair itself. Peaceful assembly in the streets did not guarantee those victories, but it repeatedly created the pressure, visibility, and moral urgency without which “the process” would have happily postponed justice for another generation.
You warn that being physically close to armed officers doing their jobs is dangerous, and you’re right. But danger alone cannot be the measure of what is moral. It was dangerous to march across the Edmund Pettus Bridge. It was dangerous to stand in front of fire hoses, to register Black voters in the Jim Crow South, to organize unions under violent strikebreaking regimes. If we retrospectively honor those people as heroes but tell present-day protesters that any willingness to accept bodily risk is reckless, we are enjoying the moral capital of past courage while asking today’s citizens to live as cautious spectators.
You also frame proximity to armed professionals as if their presence automatically carries a presumption of legitimacy. But law enforcement is not an abstract force of nature; it is a set of human beings, armed and empowered, whose judgment is sometimes excellent and sometimes catastrophically wrong. If the state chooses to deploy armed agents into neighborhoods and protests where tensions are high, it is also choosing to accept a higher degree of scrutiny and confrontation. “Don’t stand too close to the people with the guns” cannot become a moral shield that prevents us from ever looking those people in the eye and saying, “Not in our name.”
Your questions about sponsorship—would I let this person sleep under my roof with my kids, would I take legal responsibility for their actions—reveal an underlying assumption: that unless I am willing to personally absorb the worst-case scenario, I have no moral standing to challenge harsh enforcement. But we rarely apply this standard anywhere else. I don’t have to personally adopt every abused child to protest the closing of shelters. I don’t have to be willing to house every veteran to demand they not be left on the street. We live in a society precisely because we share risks and responsibilities at scale; we build systems, institutions, and safeguards so that compassion is not limited to what any one household can carry.
Another thread in your argument suggests that disruptive protest is often more about feelings than outcomes—about being visible, righteous, or morally expressive. Sometimes it is. Humans are not robots, and politics is not a lab experiment. But that emotional dimension is not a bug; it is a signal. Outrage, grief, and fear are often the first and truest indicators that something has gone badly wrong before the paperwork and the court cases catch up. To dismiss that energy as mere performance is to ignore the moral alarm system of a community. The challenge is not to suppress it, but to channel it: to make sure that people who show up in the street also show up in courtrooms, city council meetings, mutual aid networks, and voting booths.
You ask whether people believe laws stop applying when enough people disagree with them. A fair question. But there is another: do you believe laws are self-legitimizing simply because they exist? If not, then there must be a realm of conscience where people say, “This enforcement may be legal, but it is wrong.” The American tradition is full of people who broke laws, or stood in the way of lawful orders, because they believed the moral order required it. Sometimes they were vindicated by history; sometimes they were not. The fact that the line is hard to draw does not mean we should never risk drawing it.
You also suggest that if one has ever called 911 or relied on police, it is inconsistent to question enforcement. That standard collapses a complex reality into a false binary. It is entirely coherent to say: “I want a system that protects people from violence, and I also demand that this system be restrained, accountable, and answerable when it harms the very people it claims to protect.” Wanting rescue from danger does not mean surrendering your right to oppose unnecessary killing, excessive force, or policies that criminalize desperation.
Risk is central to your post: the risk of being near armed agents, the risk of crowd dynamics, the risk of escalation. But a world where everyone internalizes the lesson “risk is bad, stay home, let the professionals handle it” is not a safer world; it is simply one where the only people regularly accepting public risk are armed state actors. That imbalance is dangerous in itself. A healthy democracy depends on some portion of the citizenry being willing to carry personal risk—legal risk, reputational risk, physical risk—to make wrongdoing visible and to remind officials that the governed are not passive objects.
When you say “Is common sense cowardice, or is it how people go home alive?”, I hear a reasonable fear of pointless harm. I share that concern. Recklessness helps no one. But there is also a quieter cowardice that calls itself common sense: the voice that always finds a reason to stay on the sidewalk, to stay behind the screen, to stay out of the frame when power is acting in ways we would find horrifying if we weren’t so used to them. If everyone listened only to that voice, we would have far fewer martyrs—and far more uninterrupted abuse.
The death of Alex Pretti is a tragedy. It is right to say it should not have happened. But the conclusion you draw—that his presence as an armed protester was also unnecessary—risks implying that the safest and most rational choice is always to stay away, especially when the state arrives with guns and authority. An alternative reading is possible: that his willingness to stand physically in opposition, even knowing the danger, is part of a long, difficult lineage of people who believed that some moments require bodies, not just opinions.
Protest will never be perfectly informed, perfectly targeted, or perfectly safe. People will show up with incomplete facts, messy motives, and vulnerable egos. Some will be there from principle, some from anger, some from grief, some from the need to belong. And still, in aggregate, the willingness of ordinary people to show up—visibly, inconveniently, sometimes perilously—remains one of the few real leverage points that the powerless have against institutional force. Asking them to forfeit that leverage in the name of tidy process is asking them to accept a world where their lives and voices are always downstream of someone else’s timeline.
So yes, ask the hard questions about tactics, goals, and consequences. Ask whether a given action reduces harm or multiplies it. But don’t let “clarity, responsibility, and choices that reduce harm” be redefined as passive spectatorship while heavily armed agents operate in public without sustained, bodily, visible dissent. There is a moral, patriotic, and distinctly American tradition of saying, “We will not go quietly. We will not avert our eyes. We will not accept that safety belongs only to those who obey without question.”
If anything, the danger and uncertainty you describe are not arguments against protest; they are reminders of why protest is sacred. Freedom that never costs anyone anything at the point of contact with power is not freedom—it is permission, revocable at will.
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