We didn’t bring signs so Gabe and I had to scavenge.

Near the epicenter of the rally, I found a poster board sign by a trashcan. Protest signs tend to be too condescending (“OH I’M SORRY! DID MY BASIC HUMAN RIGHTS GET IN THE WAY OF YOUR BIGOTRY?”), too overblown (“THIS IS THE DESPARATE LAST DYING GASP OF THE BIGOTED BILLIONAIRE DINOSAUR CLASS”), or too vulgar/gender-specific (“THINK OUTSIDE MY BOX” was the tamest of the many genitalia specific messages I saw on Saturday).

But the one I found on the ground said, “SILENCE KILLS FREEDOM,” a message broad enough to encompass all the causes that drove millions of demonstrators to the streets in the largest, single-day protest in American history, and universal enough to be true for every protest I attend over the next four years. I’ve written before about how I’m not a big fan of signs. This one seemed appropriate.

Gabe’s said, “Share your Ideas, Actions, Visions & LOVE in the face of Trump HATE #resistancefromdayone.” The “O” in “LOVE” was a rainbow heart. He found it after the rally and marched with it back to the car.

Parking in Ann Arbor is usually bad, and on the day of the Women’s March, it was much, much worse. We drove by multiple lots and garages; the capacity sign by every one read “FULL” in alarm clock letters. Navigating the city took about ten times longer than usual, as well. On the far side of black police SUVs we could see the picket signs moving by. My car crawled away from the protest, and we snagged the last parking spot in a park on the outskirts of downtown.

As we made our way downtown from our parking spot, we passed dozens of groups of protesters, all in bunches of 10 or 15, most with signs, many with pink hats.

“There’s gotta be more right?” I asked Gabe. “This can’t be all of it.”

“Maybe we missed it,” he said.

We kept walking, because we kept seeing larger crowds ahead. They always turned out to just be more small groups of protesters walking in our direction.

“The Facebook group said it went from two to four,” I said.

If we had bothered to stop any of the people headed our way we would have found out that they were just the bread crumbs dropping off a table weighted down by a Feeding of the 5000 amount of bread. But, we didn’t stop them, so we discovered for ourselves.

A couple years ago, I wrote a piece on St. Patrick’s Day parties at University of Michigan for a creative nonfiction class I was taking. I did a lot of research, both on the religious (the “Saint” part) and the decidedly secular aspects of the holiday. I spent equal amounts of time on National Geographic’s website immersed in the history and a site called “Bro Bible” immersed in brewskis.

In short, I got hyped.

But, when I got there, in the middle of the afternoon on the day of the festivities, all that was left were the remnants of a rager that had already burned out. Empty bottles of Jack on the sidewalk, SOLO cups on lawns, and a ripped banner reading “Happy St. Fratties!” lying in the grass.

My friend Zach and I walked around the city; searching. There was no one. We found small groups of people in green garb and followed them, but each time they disappeared into a house, and closed the door. The public partying was over; we got there in time for a quieter, private St. Patrick’s, one that we weren’t invited to.

So, as we saw the people in pink garb walking away from the center of town, I thought maybe we should have been following them.

“Maybe we should glom on to one of these groups,” I said to Gabe, but we didn’t have signs, so if we had we would have been indistinguishable from people just walking down the sidewalk.

So, we kept walking, and it’s good we did.

In the center of town, on and around the steps of the Hatcher Graduate Library, thousands of people had gathered.

On one level, I felt at home. I work in a small town that overwhelmingly supported Trump, all of my immediate family voted for Trump, and the more I read about Trump the more it feels like Trump has been normalized; like the Republican party that Trump hijacked, and that had serious reservations about Trump (Paul Ryan calling a remark he made the “textbook definition of a racist comment,” Kellyanne Conway opposing Trump for being “unpresidential,” during the primaries, and donating $5400 to Ted Cruz instead) has come to internalize Trump’s message and values to the extent that criticizing the President means being a liberal, and that believing Trump is racist and bigoted means believing conservatives are racist and bigoted.

But, on the other hand, I felt out of step with the people around me. The Women’s March was backed by Planned Parenthood, and feminist group, New Wave Feminists, was disinvited from the march because of its pro-life stance. I went anyway, as a pro-life Christian, because women’s rights extend beyond abortion rights, and because human rights extend beyond women’s rights. The Facebook page for the event describes the march’s purpose like this: “We march in solidarity with our partners and allies to uphold and protect the rights of all, including women's rights, LGBTQ rights, immigrant rights, the rights of people of color, and the right to religious freedom.”

That’s what I went to the march for; for all of the groups that Trump insulted during his campaign, and for all of the groups for whom Trump following through on his promises will mean increased marginalization. The first full day of Trump’s term—before he had actually done anything as president—was marked by the nation protesting his treatment of women. After a first week distinguished by a rash of executive orders, demonstrations again erupted all over the country, this time to protest Trump’s decision to halt legal immigration from seven majority Muslim countries, while allowing religious minorities from those countries to continue to immigrate.

The Muslim ban represents the worst of the worst of Trump’s campaign promises. In December of 2015, back when Trump was just the loudest in a crowded field of Republican candidates, he announced his plan for the ban, saying, “Donald J. Trump [he was reading from a previously released statement] is calling for a total and complete shutdown of Muslims entering the United States until our country's representatives can figure out what the hell is going on.”

The ban was roundly denounced by prominent Republicans with Ted Cruz and Marco Rubio responding, “Of course not,” when asked on a debate stage if they would implement a similar policy if elected president. Mike Pence and Paul Ryan called the ban “offensive and unconstitutional,” and “not reflective of America’s fundamental values,” respectively.

But, now that the ban isn’t a Muslim ban—just a ban on religious majorities from majority Muslim countries—Ryan and Pence support the measure. Meanwhile, thousands around the country publicly resist the executive order, and the American Civil Liberties Union—buoyed by millions of dollars in recent donations—has sued successfully for a stay of the ban.

This is where we are in the Trump era. The ACLU flourishes, public protest is fast becoming normal, and a generation has become civically engaged. In a way that President Obama’s positive message of hope, change, and diversity never could, Donald Trump’s message of fear and nativism has spurred millions to care about politics. We are realizing that the president has the potential to significantly shape what America looks like. We are realizing that things can get very, very bad.

But, not if we can help it.

“Silence kills freedom,” after all. The next four years might get loud.