Photography: No Kings Day 6/14/25

Photography: No Kings Day 6/14/25

I chose my camera as a weapon against all the things I dislike about America — poverty, racism, discrimination.”

– Gordon Parks

I’ve been to a number of protests, demonstrations and rallies as an attendee/protestor and as a member of the press. As I was heading to Midtown for No Kings Day, I felt anxious and afraid — for the first time that I can remember. I saw some footage of the most recent I.C.E. protests at 26 Federal Plaza, which didn’t help. The day before, I told loved ones “if you don’t hear from me at all by around 5:30 or so, be worried. Something bad happened.”

When I showed up around 1:40, I saw cops in riot gear on 41st and Sixth Avenue. I followed them to Fifth Avenue and then down to 38th Street, where I wound up at the very front of the march, which started moving ahead of its scheduled 2:00pm start.

On both sides of Fifth Avenue, I saw cops in riot gear in single filed lines: Towards the right, I saw one cop brandishing a riot shield. Just off to my left, I saw another cop holding a baton, appearing as though he was dreaming of beating in a skull or two. This was as a lieutenant or captain was demonstrably directing officers, telling them to fall back against the buildings.

I’ve been to a number of protests and marches this year, and typically there are community affairs officers, NYPD legal bureau and uniformed officers — both on foot and on motorcycles — leading the protest down its prescribed route. I noticed these two detectives in business casual styled uniforms, who struck me as being stupid and brutally cruel. The shorter of the two frightened me the most.

For a significant portion of the march, about half, I guess, there was this one very angry, very weird Trump supporter, desperately seeking attention. If he wasn’t screaming about the protestors being pathetic losers, he would hover around someone’s personal space in an attempt to intimidate and to agitate someone. He was so brave that he only did this in the vicinity of the police.

We marched slowly down Fifth Avenue. Just a few blocks down the street, there’s a double-filed line of officers in riot gear standing in the intersection. Now, I’m terrified and feeling a sense of creeping dread over what could happen next. “Good god, no,” I thought to myself. “Not this. Not now.” This was followed with a reminder to myself, “Don’t be stupid. If it gets hairy, look for a way out. It ain’t worth it.”

I turned towards my right and saw a fellow photographer with a similar look of terror, concern and dread. If “what the fuck did I just get myself into?/this is the stupidest, most foolhardy thing I’ve ever done in my entire life” was a look, it would be us.

“Is this making you as uncomfortable as I am?” I asked the photographer.

“Yes,” she replied. We both remarked on how unnecessarily aggressive the police presence was, especially in light of the fact that we saw small children and elderly people.

“Let’s try to get out of this one alive,” I sardonically quipped.

“Yes!” The photographer replied with a wry smile.

We walked past a small group of older white people, who seemed to be peers of my mother. “Hey, y’all be careful,” I warned. “The police presence is very aggressive. They got riot gear on.” Unsurprisingly, they didn’t notice until i pointed it out. They’ve never had to consider that the state will happily meet you with deadly force, if they deem it necessary. Cops are trained to beat and to kill.

The first hour or so of the march was terrifying. As I told loved ones later, it was “honestly one of the most terrifying hours of my entire life.” Thankfully, nothing happened. And the police presence settled a bit. There was so much going on that I didn’t notice that Susan Sarandon and Mark Ruffalo were at the front of the march, a few people away. I only realized this while i was culling and editing photos!

In the high 20s, probably around 27th Street, I turned back to look north. I saw a mass of a people, stretching back as far as I could see, roughly 20 blocks or so. By the time, I got to Madison Square Park, a friend told me that she was stuck on the Sixth Avenue side of Bryant Park, making the mark roughly 27 or so blocks. That’s over a mile!

Though we’re in a stressful and dangerous time, seemingly inching towards our annihilation, it has remained a sacred honor and privilege to be out there to document as much of this as possible.

Check out photos below.