No Kings Revives Americana in Gaming

“I was hoping for a larger turnout today, especially with the beautiful weather,” Michael Maria shared with me. “It’s a bit disappointing because last time, I think we had about ten times as many people at this hour.”

At 11 AM, the crowd at Portland’s downtown waterfront seemed sparse compared to the last No Kings protest in October. Some of this was expected. Back in the fall of 2025, Portland had been a focal point of unrest. The city had been labeled “war-ravaged” by President Donald Trump, who signed an executive order targeting “antifa” and attempted to deploy the National Guard to protect ICE from perceived threats. A viral video of a protester in an inflatable frog costume being confronted by DHS agents turned the Portland frog into a national symbol of resistance.

However, the national spotlight has since shifted away from Portland, a mid-sized city that was always an unlikely target. As federal forces moved into Minneapolis, the national sentiment changed dramatically. The bizarre scenes of Homeland Security clashing with whimsical protesters in Portland were overshadowed by more serious incidents in Minnesota.

Last year’s No Kings protests had a celebratory vibe, but the winter that followed was long and dark, marked by events like the occupation of Minneapolis, military actions in Venezuela, and an illegal war in Iran. Many expected a significant turnout this time, but there were also reasons to believe that protesters might shy away from downtown Portland.

In late January, a labor march near the ICE facility resulted in the mass tear-gassing of peaceful civilians, including children. By early March, a federal judge had issued an injunction limiting the use of force against protesters outside the building. However, just days before the No Kings protests, an appeals court lifted these restrictions, allowing the use of tear gas once again, with a ruling that favored Trump appointees.

Ironically, the growing discontent with the administration meant that suburban residents were less inclined to travel into the city for the downtown march, as their local protests were already drawing large crowds. Thousands gathered in the affluent suburb of Lake Oswego, while Senator Ron Wyden chose to attend protests in more conservative areas like Gresham and The Dalles.

Maria noted that friends who had previously joined him at No Kings protests opted to participate in suburban demonstrations instead, fearing a crackdown in Portland. “They were a bit nervous about this,” he said.

Ultimately, Maria’s concerns about turnout were unfounded. By noon, as people marched in from surrounding neighborhoods, the riverbanks were filled with crowds enjoying the blooming cherry trees. The Burnside Bridge was packed, and the Steel Bridge was also bustling with Portlanders chanting and holding signs. An estimated 30,000 people filled the streets of downtown Portland, with organizers claiming that 8 million protested nationwide.

The March 2026 No Kings event set new records, surpassing those from October 2025. Eight million is a significant number that cannot be ignored by the administration. But what does it signify?

In the lead-up to the protests, questions arose about the effectiveness of No Kings and whether such turnout could lead to political change. Organizers were largely hands-off regarding attendees’ expectations, focusing on encouraging large, nonviolent gatherings.

No Kings is designed to be an inclusive movement with diverse meanings and demands. Protesters expressed a wide range of concerns, but when asked to identify the most pressing issue, many struggled. “How does one choose?” sighed Laurel Barnes, a social worker in Portland, who narrowed her top three to attacks on trans individuals, immigrants, and countries like Iran.

“It’s the fact that he has lied about everything he’s done since he got into office,” said Derek, a Hillsboro resident.

“For me, it’s about the policing of bodies and the deportation efforts, regardless of legal status,” said Ezra, who identified as trans. “I feel like I need to be here.”

“I’m tired of people not being treated as human beings,” added Albert Gonzalez, a Portland native with Mexican roots, who cited the mistreatment of immigrants and LGBTQ+ individuals as his motivation.

“Today, it’s the war in Iran,” said Ian Keim, a Portland Mennonite. “As a pacifist, I have to stand against war, and I can’t just sit on the sidelines. If that means getting arrested, I’ll do it. That’s part of the deal.”

What were they hoping to achieve through the protests? Kaleigh Roehl and Lisa Incognito, two registered nurses who had been tear-gassed at the January labor march, were now running an informational table at the No Kings rally, aiming for healthcare for all.

Gonzalez emphasized that showing solidarity was enough, pointing to the “FUCK ICE” pin on his bag. “I think there isn’t enough pressure on politicians right now,” Ezra remarked. “I’d love to see our elected officials actually accomplish something.”

Michael Maria, a lifelong Democrat, expressed frustration with his party’s lack of direction. “We really don’t have a plan. As terrible as Project 2025 is, at least it’s a plan. We have nothing to guide us.”

“It’s not going to be a single event that changes everything,” Barnes noted. For her, the purpose of No Kings was to combat fascism, a struggle that transcends any single issue or policy. “We have to keep chipping away.”

While the national focus may be on the upcoming elections, real change doesn’t adhere to two-year electoral cycles. Each No Kings turnout has tangible effects, influencing court rulings and local legislation. The protests continue to shape the relationship between local police and federal forces, intertwining Portland’s politics with the ongoing No Kings movement.

In previous No Kings demonstrations, a small percentage of protesters would make their way to the ICE building, and when the crowd swelled, the evening often ended in tear gas. Clashes outside the building have been used as justification for deploying the National Guard, with executive orders and court injunctions hinging on events at that specific location. The right-wing narrative surrounding antifa often stems from footage captured at this site, where confrontations reverberate across the nation.

Despite the record turnout, reinforcement for the ICE protest was unexpectedly low this time. As night fell, around 250 protesters gathered outside the building, many identifiable by their signs referencing “democracy” and “due process.” These newcomers tended to wear less protective gear, but even among them, most carried gas masks.

The protest at the ICE facility has long been well-organized, with designated medic stations and more. By March 2026, the operational setup had reached new levels, with an inflatable costume library neatly arranged and a pumping station for costumes nearby. An organizer in all black instructed protesters on how to use traffic cones to cover tear gas canisters if needed.

“We’ve got riot cops here. Do not run; we don’t want to trample our friends,” someone announced over a loudspeaker. “Do not scream. Yell ‘medic’ if you’re hurt.”

Around 5:45 PM, DHS officers rushed out of the building, engaging with someone on the grass. In the chaos, they knocked over a stack of board games on a picnic blanket. The scene was chaotic, with it being hard to distinguish between federal agents and protesters, as seasoned demonstrators donned gear similar to that of riot cops.

DHS had also changed its appearance. The guards at the ICE building now looked more professional, with uniforms and identifiable patches, a stark contrast to the previous guards who resembled militia members. Oregon had recently restricted the use of masks by law enforcement, although the constitutionality of this law remains uncertain. The shift in appearance was also influenced by the departure of Kristi Noem from her role as Secretary of Homeland Security.

“Fuck you, fascists!” shouted a protester.

“My grandparents used to kill scum like you!” another yelled.

The DHS officers eventually retreated behind the gate. In the aftermath of the scuffle, three teenage boys approached, peering curiously at the building. After a brief exchange, one suggested, “OK, let’s get the fuck out of here.” They posed for a photo and then left.

I noticed that the crowd at the ICE building appeared older than those I had seen after the October No Kings protest. The youngest protesters lacked protective gear, highlighting how dangerous protesting has become, making disposable income a prerequisite for participation.

“Yellowjackets! Yellowjackets are coming!” someone shouted. A group of Portland city police on bicycles, clad in neon-yellow shirts under black vests, was forming up the street.

“What are they going to do?” a young woman without a gas mask asked her friend. “If they arrest us, are they going to put us on their handlebars?”

However, the protesters’ hostility toward the “yellowjackets” became evident as a line of city bike cops and Oregon State Police in riot gear advanced, blocking the crowd. As tensions settled, at least four officers positioned themselves at the ICE building’s driveway, a site central to ongoing lawsuits regarding the use of force and the National Guard’s involvement.

Oregon has been a sanctuary state since 1987, legally prohibiting local and state officials from assisting federal immigration enforcement. The relationship between local police and federal agents has been contentious throughout Trump’s tenure, but the sight of city and state officials clearly guarding the ICE building raised eyebrows.

“Shame! Shame!” the crowd chanted in unison.

Five years ago, I would have been taken aback by the cultural symbols present at this protest. The mix of American flags—both upside-down and right-side-up—alongside black bloc and graffiti referencing Molotov cocktails was striking. Calls for violence intertwined with appeals to the Constitution and due process, while references to military service during World War II added an edgy layer to the atmosphere. Earlier, I had witnessed a small but vocal parade of motorcycles and a banner reading “FUCK TRUMP” styled like campaign signage, reminiscent of right-wing caravans that once cruised through Portland.

Once, aggressive Americana was entirely coded Republican. As No Kings continues to thrive, those symbols are being joyfully co-opted by the left. The flag, the Constitution, and the heartland are being reclaimed by anti-Trump sentiment.

Youth often reject their parents’ preferences, yet the mass appeal of No Kings is captivating even the most disaffected Americans.

I watched a teenager in baggy cargo pants wriggle out of a half-inflated frog costume, hopping around as he freed himself. Once out, he slipped on his sneakers, grabbed a pair of miniature American flags, and dashed to the front.

The kid leaned forward, twirling the flags just inches from a cop’s face. The officer’s expression remained stoic, his gaze fixed beyond the flags, seemingly unfazed by the provocation.