The Illusion of Protest

The difference between temporary protest and lasting transformation lies in organization, not outrage.

My pink pussy hat is still stuffed in a box somewhere.

I wore it proudly, if somewhat tongue-in-cheek, as I marched through Washington DC, part of a truly massive protest in 2016. Sailing in that sea of pink felt purposeful and coordinated—each handmade hat a thread in what surely, I thought, was a vast network of resistance.

A few years later, I watched a different kind of protest unfold on every screen I owned—Americans draped in flags and tactical gear scaling the Capitol walls on January 6th, leaving five dead and a nation shaken. Though the symbols of these two protests were different, the sensation I felt was familiar: a naive but compelling belief that visible unity means unstoppable momentum.

Only one of these movements endured, and that difference reversed my conviction about political symbols: visibility alone doesn’t signify power. The pink hats created the illusion of strength—an army that only briefly materialized, a spectacle without a strategy. MAGA’s red hats, by contrast, were more than symbols. They were signals, markers of a campaign rooted in infrastructure, discipline, and long-term engagement. One protest symbol faded into nostalgia. The other became a uniform for a substantial and enduring political force.

This distinction is straightforward but too frequently discounted: causes characterized by visual protest often spike in popularity, but without strategic mechanisms to sustain engagement, they quickly fade. The specific politics make little difference.

Photo by Vlad Tchompalov on Unsplash

Beware the Fashionable Protest

Movements that are visually compelling catch fire—but without substance, they burn out just as fast. The pink pussy hat started as a DIY feminist project, but quickly became mass-produced merchandise worn more as costume than comment. Colin Kaepernick’s kneeling in defiance was softened into Nike ads, still powerful but now better packaged for mainstream consumption and less disruptive. In both cases, the pretense of activism may have also blocked real progress.

Political symbols create an immediate sense of identity and belonging, but to be effective that affinity must be backed by a structured initiative with long-term goals. The iconic red MAGA cap wasn’t an isolated protest symbol—it was a membership badge, reinforced by rallies, right-wing media, and local organizing.

This fundamental difference between sustained and fleeting symbols shows up clearly in a quick review of protest impacts. Symbols without an organizing infrastructure tend to be absorbed into consumer culture and lose their power. Those embedded in ongoing movements maintain their force and meaning.

Commodified Symbols

• Blackout Tuesday (2020) → Originally intended as a moment of solidarity for racial justice after George Floyd’s murder, the social media blackout quickly turned into a shallow performative act. Millions posted black squares on Instagram, but without sustained activism or policy initiatives attached, the moment faded into digital history rather than driving systemic reform.

• The Women’s Equality Memes (2016-Present) → Slogans like “The Future is Female” and “Nevertheless, She Persisted” exploded as feminist branding, appeared on everything from fast-fashion tees to tattoos. But while the aesthetic of empowerment sells well, many companies profiting from these slogans continue to have poor records on gender equality. For them, activism is a marketing tool rather than a driver of change.

• Occupy Wall Street’s “99%” (2011) → Created as a fresh narrative about economic inequality and the influence of the wealthiest 1%, it briefly captured national attention. But without clear policy demands or organizational structure, the activism degraded into talking points rather than needed reforms.

Embedded Symbols

• Tea Party’s “Don’t Tread on Me” Flag (2009) → Revived an historical symbol but backed it with grassroots organizing, primary challenges, and policy initiatives. The flag became shorthand for an initiative that successfully influenced Republican Party direction toward more Libertarian positions.

• Gay Rights’ Rainbow Flag (1978-Present) → Evolved from a protest symbol into an enduring emblem of LGBTQ+ rights because it represents ongoing organizational efforts in legal, political, and cultural spheres.

• Union’s Raised Fist (1930s-Present) → Originally a labor movement symbol, the raised fist has been continuously used by organized groups fighting for workers’ rights, civil rights, and social justice. Unlike fleeting protest gestures, it remains embedded in labor unions, political activism, and advocacy networks, symbolizing collective power and sustained resistance.

The examples that have persisted share a common foundation of sustained organizational infrastructure and purposeful meaning. This is an obvious goal for all, so why have some causes proven more adept at building and maintaining these essential support systems?

Building Beyond the Symbolic

Real change requires deliberate objectives and system-building from the start—before the symbols and memes take off. Real change needs clear pathways to maintain momentum and convert symbolic support into sustained action. As importantly, the momentum and action of real change needs to match the moment so the underlying infrastructure must be modern. These efficiencies don’t just arise out of passion—people take the time and effort to build them.

The MAGA movement has this type of infrastructure, often using it to play both offense and defense. Its media ecosystem (Fox News, Newsmax, AM talk radio) provides daily reinforcement of core messages and new reasons for supporters to stay engaged and united. Trump and Musk flood the zone with dramatic gestures, capturing air waves and brain waves. Most importantly, the infrastructure creates clear avenues from initial engagement to deeper involvement—whether through local organizing, campaign volunteering, or running for office.

I’ve given up my hope for a few boring years ahead. Instead I see an endless horizon of contention. So far, the opposition to this administration feels like either a heartfelt but undisciplined backlash or directionless, outdated pleas for a better world. Daily I search for glimpses of collectives with solid goals and more sophisticated approaches, groups able to connect with and perhaps win over mainstream audiences.

I’ve found traces of that in the focused actions of the environmental movement. By uniting unions, climate advocates, and industry leaders around shared economic and environmental goals, they’ve secured major policy wins like the bipartisan Infrastructure Law, which included historic investments in clean energy, public transit, and water infrastructure. By expanding the symbolism of environmental protection, they found a productive way forward.

Some progress is also visible in new communication channels. AOC’s Instagram updates from Congress show how digital infrastructure can sustain engagement between dramatic moments. Jennifer Rubin and Norm Eisen’s independent media platform, The Contrarian, along with an explosion of expert newsletters are creating alternatives to traditional outlets. These new voices aren’t just reporting or commenting. They’re building lasting coalitions with audiences seeking deeper understanding—connections that can be activated when needed.

It won’t surprise me if some symbol of resistance catches on and spreads across America in defiance of the current administration. There are interesting flashpoints to watch: Senator Elizabeth Warren’s fiery economic battles, Mark Zaid’s principled legal stand, even Governor JB Pritzker’s playful trolling of Trump. But I sincerely hope any symbolic gestures are preceded by a real vision for change supported by a sustaining infrastructure to reach that goal.

The hard question isn’t how to protest—it’s what exactly are we fighting for and what are the mechanisms for achieving those goals? The answer should not be a lengthy and broadly diverse list of desires. It should be a precise and narrow list of changes that will move us forward as a nation.

This isn’t an academic exercise. We face an unprecedented convergence of challenges—democratic institutions under strain, economic inequality reaching breaking points, and climate change accelerating faster than our response. The stakes are too high for initiatives that flare briefly and fade. We need sustained engagement that can weather multiple cycles of conflict and setback.

The path from protest to progress isn’t mysterious—it’s just hard work. But it’s work worth doing if we want our protests to create lasting impact rather than just occasional moments for cosplay.

Your Turn

It’s easy to be seduced by symbolism. Finding substance takes more effort, but it pays off. Here’s what I’m trying:

• Look around at the symbols that surround you—on hats, bumper stickers, social media, and campaign signs. Which ones are backed by substance or systems for accomplishing their goals?

• Examine a cause you care about. Does it have a clear path from awareness to action? If not, what’s missing?

• Consider your own engagement. Are you drawn to symbolic acts, or do you actively participate in causes that have infrastructure behind them? If you want to deepen your involvement, what’s a concrete next step?

You’re always welcome to respond in the Comments section or to share your own perspective.

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If you’re new here, an algorithm probably guided you. In that case, I recommend you confirm who I am, where my expertise lies, and what biases I may bring to my posts. If you want to read more, I’d suggest you start with my foundational post, The Hidden Influence of Branding in American Politics.