Chants of Democracy: Longmont and Boulder March for No Kings

The “No Kings” demonstrations, a national movement against authoritarianism, have stretched from Denver to Erie and as well as the neighboring cities of Longmont and Boulder. Across Colorado’s Front Range, protestors gathered not just to resist, but to reclaim what they believe democracy truly looks like.

NO KINGS DAY: Longmont

By Carlina Grillo & Destiny Hale

By midmorning, Longmont’s downtown was alive with movement and sound. The crowd, hundreds strong, streamed through the streets in rhythm, a chorus of voices bouncing off storefront windows and brick façades.
“Show me what democracy looks like!” shouted one protestor through a megaphone.
“This is what democracy looks like!” came the rolling reply, wave after wave of voices answering back.

Among the crowd, a man in a bright yellow chicken costume flapped his arms dramatically, drawing laughter and cheers. Handmade signs cut through the sea of color, “No Kings,” “Save Democracy” and “Fascism Has No Home Here.”

At one point, the chanting softened, replaced by the familiar opening melody of “This Land Is Your Land.”
Voices joined hesitantly at first, then in full harmony, filling the street with the language of protest that has echoed through generations. That was not the only song sung that day, a handful of protestors brought violins, guitars, and small speakers, and would periodically perform.

By singing one of America’s most iconic folk songs at an anti-Trump rally, marchers were making a statement: we are the inheritors of democracy, not its enemies.
Woody Guthrie’s lyrics,  once written as a counterpoint to blind nationalism, have taken on new meaning here. When the crowd sang “This land is your land, this land is my land,” they were making a demand for inclusion, for equality, for a vision of America that resists ownership by one man.

The chants and songs worked to produce a sense of solidarity and unity. The rhythm kept people walking. The music kept them together. Every beat, every lyric, every shout was allowed Longmont to make their voice heard.

NO KINGS DAY: Boulder

By Emilia Martinez

If you were walking down Pearl Street in Boulder that same Saturday, you would have seen one of over 2,000 “No Kings” rallies nationwide. The turnout was massive. and the mood was electric. The crowd stretched from one block to the next, and the sky was filled with homemade banners rippling in the autumn wind, flags of every kind unfurling above our heads.

Flyers for the Socialist Democratic Party of Boulder circulated through the crowd. One representative told me he found it “outrageous” that government and military figures “seem to be pushing loyalty to an individual and not the Bill of Rights they swore to uphold.” His words carried easily above the noise of drums and chanting.

Everywhere we looked  color and symbolism:

a woman in a Handmaid’s Tale dress stood silently near the courthouse, her crimson robe stark against the gray stone; a group of college students led chants through megaphones; others held signs reading “No Kings,” “Democracy Belongs to the People,” and “We Remember January 6.” The air vibrated with energy as whistles, clapping, the hum of conversation and sound of protest filled the area.

Police stood in small clusters along the sidewalks, present, watchful, but distant. Boulder PD’s Deputy Chief Hartkopp later told me that “a successful protest is one in which everyone is able to safely exercise their First Amendment rights.” He described de-escalation, property protection, and communication with organizers as central to department police. In practice, public confidence in these measures remains mixed as fear of government crackdown grows.

As the afternoon waned, the crowd thinned and the tone softened. I met a woman sitting on a bench, holding a sign that read: “How did you fight dictatorship today?”
She told me she’s been out here every weekend since February, calling her participation “street philosophy” that is represented by anyone who’s willing to lift their head for a moment and break the bubble of normal daily comfort.
“It’s not just protest,” she said. “It’s a conversation about fear, about hope, about what kind of country we’re becoming.”

When we parted, she hugged me, eyes wet. For a moment, the noise and slogans fell away. What remained was something quieter: people trying, in their own ways, to keep faith in one another and in the idea of democracy itself.

From the music-filled streets of Longmont to the charged avenues of Boulder, the “No Kings” movement continues to echo across Colorado’s Front Range with ordinary citizens defining, in unison, what democracy looks like.

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