Can Dawn Protests in Arizona Save Democracy?

At 7:00 a.m. on a Wednesday in Phoenix, while most people are inching through traffic with coffee in hand, a small group of citizens stands on the street corner holding up protest signs. The sun is barely up, but the heat is already radiating off the pavement. Cars whiz by, some drivers honking or giving thumbs-up in support. This is the weekly Rush Hour Resistance Rally. These Arizonans have made it their dawn ritual to stand up for democracy during morning rush hour.

They gather outside a local coffee shop, then fan out along the sidewalk with homemade signs. “Big events with thousands of people are great. But we also need local, more frequent rallies that show locals that they’re not alone in this fight,” the event description reads. In response, here they are: rarely more than two dozen in number, but determined to be a visible presence. In an era when many feel political outrage has become a daily background noise, these neighbors are broadcasting a simple message to every passerby: You are not alone.

The Rush Hour Resistance rallies in Phoenix are deliberately small-scale and hyper-local. There are five regular gatherings around the city on various mornings from a corner in Tempe to outside the ICE field office downtown. The one I visited — in the Moon Valley neighborhood of north-central Phoenix — was started by a local resident after she attended a similar protest in another part of town.

“It was such a great idea, I wanted to do the same thing in my area,” said Judy Phillips, who helped organize the Moon Valley rally. Armed with little more than determination and a website (cheekily shortened to RhRR.us), Judy and fellow volunteers have recruited folks to come out each week. “We’ve never had more than 20 people out here,” she admits, “but that’s 20 signs for everybody who drives past.” In a city as car-centric as Phoenix, that means hundreds of commuters see their messages every week.

Those messages cover a broad range of concerns. Walking along the lineup of protesters, I see signs calling to “Defend Democracy,” “Protect Voting Rights,” “Save Our Schools,” and simply “Enough!” In truth, the list of issues motivating these protesters is too long to fit on any one poster. 

“It seems like at least a dozen more things pile up every week,” said Dan, a retiree out with his wife Nancy. Both held signs. “There are too many things to make a protest sign about because our country’s falling apart.”

He ticks off just a few of the crises that spurred the two out of their air-conditioned home before dawn: threats to Medicare and Social Security, attacks on public education, rollbacks of environmental protections, and the gutting of America’s public broadcasting.

“They’re reaching so far into all of our institutions and it’s not benefiting the people,” Nancy told Now Frolic. “It’s benefiting corporations and the wealthy. That’s very inequitable, and that’s not what America is about.”

For Dan and Nancy, who have lived through many presidencies and protest eras, this moment feels uniquely urgent. “I’ve never seen anything like this,” Nancy told me, recalling the tumult of recent years. “We’ve seen a lot of presidents come and go, and there’s never been a time where every day you wake up worried about what new thing happened overnight.” 

The couple has grandchildren now, and that fuels their resolve. “We didn’t want to leave them with this kind of world,” Dan said, “I am so sorry to your generation for the mess my generation is passing on.”

Instead of sitting at home stewing about the news, they’ve decided to do something — and that something is waving a sign on a street corner once a week.

What’s striking about the Rush Hour Resistance crew? Many never imagined they would be regular protesters at this stage in life. Several are retirees or busy parents who simply felt compelled to get off the sidelines. “I’m very concerned about losing our democracy,” said Laurie Riedel, a mother of three who lives nearby. “We’re in a state of cruelty and chaos. I feel like I cannot sit on the sideline and just watch it happen.” 

Laurie remembers being just a bit too young to participate in the big protests of the 1960s. Now, in her 60s herself, she sees this as “my time to step up.” Every week, she blocks out Wednesday morning to join the rally, motivated by fear that American democracy is teetering. Committed as she is to American democracy, she jokes half-seriously about having a “plan B country” in mind if things don’t improve by the next major elections.

That dark humor aside, Laurie and her fellow protesters are laser-focused on pulling the country back from the brink of authoritarianism before it’s too late. They point to warnings from people like voting rights advocate Stacey Abrams, who recently outlined “10 steps to autocracy” and cautioned that “the U.S. is already at step nine.”

Hearing that sent a chill down their spines. Step 10, of course, is the point of no return — and no one on this street corner wants to find out what that looks like. 

“It’s scary,” Laurie told Now Frolic. “But it’s also motivation. We have to organize and stand up now, because we are one step away.”

Each person here has a slightly different story of what pushed them from quiet frustration to public action, but a common theme is a sense of duty to future generations. Protesters often mention their children and grandchildren. They mention neighbors or coworkers who feel the same anxieties but haven’t gotten involved — yet. That’s a big part of why they choose to rally so publicly during rush hour: “Maybe people driving by don’t have the courage to stand up initially, but they might when they see others,” Judy explained.

Courage, like fear, is contagious. If a few of those honking drivers decide to speak out or volunteer because they saw this little rally, it will have been worth it.

Further, these rallies aren’t random or isolated. They’re part of a broader grassroots network. Many of the people here met through a local chapter of Indivisible — the progressive movement born after 2016 with the stated goal to “save American democracy.” Their particular chapter, Desert Democracy (formerly Desert Progressives), has been active in Phoenix for years. Through Indivisible, they receive weekly action tips and updates on issues. One protester mentions an initiative called “One Million Rising,” a nationwide Indivisible training effort aiming to mobilize one million people to defend democratic values. 

“Indivisible sends out emails about what we can do each week,” explained Barb, another regular at the rally. “They’re trying to get more and more people involved. We have to reach a threshold — a critical mass of people — enough that it makes a difference.”

In practice, that means this street-corner protest is just one facet of their activism. Indivisible members in Arizona are also phone-banking, writing to lawmakers, and registering new voters whenever they can.

“We want to get more people to the polls,” Barb said. Arizona’s elections have been nail-biters in recent cycles, so every new voter counts. In 2022, Arizonans narrowly elected leaders who rejected election denialism and extremist policies — including a Democratic governor and secretary of state — but the state legislature remains controlled by a hyper-partisan faction of the other party. In 2023, Governor Katie Hobbs set a record by vetoing 174 bills, highlighting just how contentious things are at the Capitol.

“Every day in Arizona, we’re hanging on by our fingernails,” Laurie told me. The constant tug-of-war in state government, this precarious balance, is why advocates are determined to keep Arizona purple, if not bright blue. It’s why they show up with their signs — even in 100+ degree heat.

This little crowd on the corner is, in a sense, community-building as much as it is protesting. The participants greet each other with hugs and catch up on neighborhood news. Some wear T-shirts from past marches; others bring extra hats and sunscreen to share.

“Community is our strength — and connection fuels our resistance,” says a flyer for a weekly coffee meetup for the group. That ethos is evident here. While the rally itself only lasts about an hour, many protestors go for coffee, and to strategize.

“There’s strength in numbers,” Laurie notes. What started as venting frustration has evolved into a support network. “Start meeting other like-minded people, because you’re not alone.”

There is optimism underpinning this weekly ritual: spirited sign-wavers ahead of a steady stream of commuter cars. The participants are angry about a laundry list of issues, and anxious about the state of the nation, but underlying it all is a belief that ordinary people can still make a difference. They haven’t given in to cynicism or despair. 

In an age of online slacktivism and doom-scrolling, one could easily ask: Does it really matter? Will a handful of seniors with signs on 7th Street change the course of history These Arizonans, however, choose to literally stand up and be counted.

They’re putting their time and sweat (quite a lot of sweat in the Phoenix summer) into being seen and heard. It’s a small act of faith that somewhere out there, enough others will do the same to help reach that critical mass. Social movements are made up of thousands of small acts just like this, and each is a seed planted for democracy. 

Looking to history, the women’s suffrage parades of the 1910s and civil rights marches of the 1960s were built on years of smaller, less heralded gatherings. This weekly rally isn’t aiming to flood downtown with thousands of protesters, but it does keep the flame of civic engagement alive on a neighborhood level. Civic action reminds people on their morning commute that democracy is not a spectator sport. “If you don’t do anything, nothing’s gonna change,” Nancy said as she waved to an appreciative honker.

By 8:00 a.m., the rush hour trickle has slowed and the protesters begin to pack up their signs. There’s a little cheer — “See you next week!” — and they disperse, off to their day’s appointments and chores. Next Wednesday, and every Wednesday for the foreseeable future, they’ll be back. They hope a few more faces will join them. In a world of big problems and daunting headlines, these neighbors have found a powerful antidote to apathy: show up, together, and do something.

If you’re inspired by the Rush Hour Resistance and want to take action, the best place to start is within your community. Connect with grassroots organizations like Indivisible or other civic groups in your area. Their national site can point you toward a local chapter, while Phoenix residents can join Desert Democracy or similar networks that are keeping Arizona’s civic heartbeat strong.

If you’re nearby, consider showing up to a weekly Rush Hour Resistance rally. There are five across the Valley from Moon Valley to Tempe, and even a brief stop with a sign on your way to work adds to the impact. For those outside Phoenix, it doesn’t take much to start your own: a couple of people, a sidewalk, and the willingness to be visible. The visibility itself matters: the act of standing together in public reminds others that they’re not alone.

Beyond rallies, many participants also commit time to registering voters, especially young people and new movers. Groups like the League of Women Voters and local campaigns can help you get involved in drives where every additional ballot matters, particularly in a state as divided as Arizona. Registering voters is one of the most direct and effective ways to defend democracy.

If you can’t be on the street corner yourself, you can still contribute from home. Donating to pro-democracy candidates and causes through platforms like ActBlue fuels the larger fight. Calling or emailing your representatives lets them know you’re paying attention. Even sharing reliable information online, or starting conversations in your own circles, helps counter misinformation and builds civic awareness.

Staying engaged in civic life doesn’t always require dramatic gestures or full-time activism. The form doesn’t matter as much as the commitment. What counts is choosing to act, in whatever way you can, to keep the flame of democracy alive.

Show up with a sign in hand and hope in your heart, to remind your neighbors — and yourself — that we’re all in this together. As the Rush Hour Resistance in Arizona shows, democracy is indeed a team effort, one morning at a time.

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