For every historically significant protest over the past 250 years, there have likely been hundreds, if not thousands, of demonstrations that went unnoticed by many outside the immediate area where the rally took place.
For every March on Washington, there have been countless events near city halls and state capitols spreading the word about racial injustice on a local or regional level that haven’t become standard lessons in history books.
For every Stonewall Uprising, there have been scores of gatherings across the nation devoted to promoting LGBTQ+ rights that have not been seen as the tipping point for a new movement.
For every Moratorium to End the War, there have been many more, smaller, less ambitious but no less passionate pleas to end military conflicts over the past few decades as the U.S. has sent troops to Vietnam, Iraq and Afghanistan.
For every group of Silent Sentinels, there have been less heralded, untold throngs of women and allies marching for women’s and reproductive rights in conservative states such as Texas.
Since the Jan. 20, 2025, inauguration of President Donald Trump, a new, impassioned round of protests of all sizes for an array of causes has swallowed busy intersections, courthouse lawns, city hall plazas and downtown streets of North Texas in a regularly occurring way that hasn’t been seen for at least some time, if ever.
North Texas is expansive enough that demonstrations often take different forms. Colorful signs and shouting marchers aren’t always needed to make one’s voice heard.
As the battle over whether Dallas should allow short-term rentals to operate in single-family neighborhoods has continued over the past few years, a large group of residents has filled City Hall’s council chambers, sporting matching T-shirts with “Homes Not Hotels” on the front. Each Monday, a small group of pastors meets to form a public prayer circle in front of the Dallas ICE field office, in plain view of those driving along Interstate 35, to pray for the safety, fair treatment and dignity of ICE detainees.
Not every local protest event is a multi-city effort spearheaded by a national organization, as the attention-grabbing No Kings and Hands Off! have been. Opposing Trump, ICE, the wars in Ukraine or Palestine and even Elon Musk have brought sometimes thousands together, or sometimes just a single soul with a handwritten sign out into the streets.
But when many of today’s most pressing troubles seem overwhelming or simply too big or too far away to tackle, why is it that so many locals take the time to lift their voices? Changing the course of history on a grand scale isn’t necessarily what many North Texas activists are trying to do; their aim is often much more humble, but they feel their efforts, even solo ventures, can have an outsized effect on how our world moves forward.
‘The Right Thing To Do’
Samantha Mitchell with comedian Paula Poundstone at a Dallas rally
Courtesy Samantha Mitchell
It doesn’t take long for Samantha Mitchell to explain why she began taking part in protests.
“It’s the right thing to do,” she says.
Since 2016, she has helped lead Indivisible Dallas, a grassroots, volunteer-led organization “dedicated to defending democracy and defeating authoritarianism” that collaborates with other local groups on events across Dallas.
Mitchell has seen the steps taken by national and state officials against people who do not look like her, were not raised like her nor have ever lived near her. She acknowledges her privilege while letting the past inform her present efforts.
“I was raised by a nanny fleeing violence in El Salvador, a woman who left her own children behind in part to care for me and earn enough money to send for them,” she says. “I was taught to read and to write by a Black teacher from Nigeria. I grew up with family friends from Mexico City who taught me Spanish and how to season my food. Queer and trans people throughout my life made me feel seen, understood, worthy and loved as a human, just as I am, expecting nothing in return. … I feel it’s not just my right to voice dissent in the face of threats to democracy and peace, but it’s my obligation.”
Mitchell was an organizer for the June and October No Kings rallies in Dallas. We know why she started protesting, but what specifically does she hope her actions will yield?
“My personal goal is to teach people that democracy is for everyone, even for those who disagree with me and this movement,” she says. “I want all of us to win. We are not each other’s enemy, despite the best efforts of those in power to tear us apart.”
Reclaiming the People’s Voice
In Fort Worth, Deborah Guerrero has, in recent months, teamed up with some folks from Indivisible to protest, but her unique approach didn’t begin as a group project. In May 2025, the 62-year-old was dismayed by the ultra-conservative redistricting in Tarrant County, something she told the Observer in October “felt like a theft of the people’s voice.”
After asking herself the simple question of what one person can do about the matter, Guerrero began posting large signs on the pedestrian bridge high above Interstate 30 near Arlington Heights High School. For the first few days, she was by herself. Her first sign read “Stop the gerrymandering, Tarrant County.”
On her fourth day on the bridge, Guerrero said she was joined by a woman still healing from hip surgery. More volunteers joined in, and one sign-covered bridge soon became three, with messages aimed at the Epstein files, Robert F. Kennedy Jr. and President Trump catching the eyes of morning commuters.
Of course, when you pick bridges over packed freeways during the morning rush hour, you hope to reach as many people as possible with your message. Guerrero estimates between 35,000 – 37,000 cars pass under their signs on most mornings, but for her, it’s a smaller number that could pack the biggest punch, fulfilling her goals as a protester.
“These are working people heading into their day,” she said. “If seeing our signs sparks even one workplace conversation, if it inspires even one person to dig deeper, to resist, and to stand brave with us, then we’ve accomplished our mission.”
Speaking for Those Who Can’t Speak
Sometimes a solo protester takes to the street and isn’t eventually joined by others with signs, but is lifted up through the encouragement of others. After seeing news reports about an ICE agent in Minneapolis shooting and killing Renee Good, an unarmed 37-year-old mother of three, on Jan. 7, Dawn Nuefeld decided she couldn’t simply do nothing.
The way in which the shooting happened in the daylight, in front of so many cameras, with so many people surrounding the scene, struck Nuefeld, an attorney. Like so many others, Nuefeld watched the video of an ICE agent shooting his gun into Good’s vehicle and felt like the agent had no concerns for hiding his behavior or thinking twice about his deadly actions. That was too much for her.
Nuefeld grabbed a black Sharpie and drew massive letters spelling out “FUCK ICE” on a white poster board and headed to a busy intersection near her home in Frisco.
“What did it for me was, I thought how it was not enough for me to sit there [at home] all afternoon and just take in additional information,” she says. “It didn’t feel like enough. I felt like it was going to be more detrimental to me to just sit there. I thought I have to do something. I need the community who can’t speak for themselves to know somebody is speaking for them.”
While she stood holding the sign high near the intersection of Legacy Drive and Main Street, she took in the honks of support and words of encouragement from some, while shouldering the insults hurled at her by others. Nuefeld, whose mother is Black and father is white, also couldn’t help but notice the looks some of the people who clearly did not approve of her expression gave her as they drove by. She has taken part in other protests recently, but this time was unique in that the spiteful glares were aimed solely at her.
“The looks of anger on people’s faces, I’ve seen those faces before,” she says. “They reminded me of the pictures of desegregating schools in the South. That’s literally what I saw, and it was extremely emotional, because I recognized those faces.”
Feeling the pull to get up and do something, anything, led Nuefeld to conduct her one-woman demonstration. The action might’ve developed quickly, but she still had a goal in mind. She wanted to call out the hypocrisy, she says she’s seen in the months since Republican commentator Charlie Kirk was shot and killed. While conservatives were on TV talking about how Good might still be alive had she complied with the ICE agents, Nuefeld recalled how those same conservatives were praising Kirk “as a saint” in the wake of his killing, but now, Good was being almost demonized after being killed.
The hypocrisy she wanted to call out doesn’t stop there. The people she says now refer to Ashli Babbitt, the woman killed by Capitol police on Jan. 6 as she tried to force her way past police through a broken window, as a martyr, are those saying Good should’ve simply minded the ICE agent.
“I had someone reach out to me on social media after that day, to basically say shame on me, because he had to explain to his 6 and 8 year old, what ‘fuck ICE’ means,” she says. “I’m sure that same gentleman would be totally OK with the Ten Commandments hanging in a classroom, but what happens when your 6- or 8-year-old needs to ask their teacher what adultery is?”
‘I Will Continue to Dissent’
With only a year under the second Trump administration’s belt, the inspiration for protests of all shapes and sizes will likely not slow down anytime soon. But a dearth of causes has never been a problem for Mitchell, Guerrero and Nuefeld.
“Immigrants are not the reason we cannot afford to pay our skyrocketing rent in Dallas, Mitchell says. “Trans people are not the reason we don’t have adequate health care. Black folks are not the reason we fear to send our children to school in an age where a school shooting happens almost every day in our country. … Despite any personal risk, I will continue to show up and peacefully dissent in any way I can. I hope others will join me.”
Last week, Guerrero’s bridge sign crew was at it again, this time advocating for Democratic Texas Senate candidate Taylor Rehmet. Other Fort Worth bridge signs from the recent past include messages against war in Venezuela and for affordable healthcare here at home.
Although Renee Good’s death spurred Nuefeld into action on Jan. 7, that’s just one cause she feels strongly about. With two kids, she’s alarmed by what she has seen happen to the state’s education system and to the rights of LGBTQ people. She sees in Trump a leader who could cause a war far greater than what has already been seen in Venezuela. She’s a veteran of rallies and says she won’t stop speaking out anytime soon.
“There are a lot of people here on the ground doing the work, but I will continue to support,” she says. “Even decided that my sign is going to stay in my trunk, if I ever come across another individual standing by him or herself, protesting, I will join them.”