A reflection on protest, pragmatism, and what silence means in a political climate that no longer feels normal
I have never been a natural supporter of boycotts and economic blackouts.
Not because I oppose protest. Not because I think people should be passive. But because, over a long life of watching how systems actually work, I’ve seen how blunt instruments often land first on the people with the least cushion.
A boycott of Starbucks, for example, will almost certainly hurt baristas long before it dents shareholder value. The corporation has reserves. The hourly worker does not. That has always made me cautious about celebrating consumer-based protest as a serious tool for change.
So when I first encountered John Schwarz and his People’s Union USA movement on Instagram, my reaction was mixed.
I understood the anger. I understood the frustration. I understood the emotional energy behind calls for “economic resistance.” But I also saw a movement that felt more emotional than pragmatic. More symbolic than structural. More about collective catharsis than carefully targeted leverage.
And yet, my thinking has been shifting.
Not because I suddenly believe boycotts are the most effective tool. I still don’t. But because the political and civic environment created by Trumpism and its enablers has become so corrosive, so openly hostile to democratic norms, that the old calculus feels incomplete.
We are no longer operating in a normal political environment.
The Emotional Power of Mobilization
John Schwarz is not a policy architect. He is not offering white papers or legislative roadmaps. What he offers is something different: emotional mobilization.
His message is simple, and that is part of its power. Ordinary people feel powerless. Corporations and political institutions feel unaccountable. Therefore, use the one lever you still control: your spending, your participation, your attention.
From a strictly economic perspective, one can reasonably question whether an “economic blackout day” measurably changes anything. From a psychological and social perspective, though, something else is happening.
People are being told: you are not alone in your anger.
You are not crazy for feeling that the system is rigged.
You are not powerless simply because you are not wealthy or politically connected.
That matters. Even if the specific tactic is imperfect.
For a long time, I’ve been skeptical of that kind of politics. I still am, to a degree. But I can no longer dismiss it as merely performative.
Why My Own Thinking Is Changing
I have always believed in thoughtful, targeted, and strategic action. I still do. I still believe that most boycotts are blunt tools. I still believe that corporate power is not easily moved by symbolic gestures.
But something else has become impossible to ignore.
The atmosphere.
The normalization of cruelty.
The open contempt for democratic norms.
The casual acceptance of lies, intimidation, and dehumanization as political tools.
This is no longer just about policy disagreements. It is about what kind of civic culture we are willing to tolerate.
In that environment, silence does not feel neutral.
Silence begins to look like acceptance.
Silence begins to function as compliance.
That is where my own thinking has shifted.
Not toward uncritical enthusiasm for every protest tactic. But toward a recognition that in moments of democratic stress, even imperfect acts of resistance may have value that is not captured by spreadsheets or quarterly reports.
They signal to others: you are not alone.
They break the illusion that everyone has quietly accepted what is happening.
They create small but real psychological cracks in the narrative that “this is just how things are now.”
Living in the Space Between
This is where I find myself now: in the uncomfortable middle.
I still care about unintended consequences. I still worry about workers bearing the cost of protests aimed at corporations. I still believe that sustainable change requires organization, law, and institutional pressure, not just viral calls to action.
But I also recognize that movements rarely begin in boardrooms or policy journals.
They begin in emotion.
They begin in anger.
They begin in moral discomfort.
They begin in the moment when enough people say, even quietly, “This feels wrong, and I don’t want to pretend otherwise.”
John Schwarz’s movement may not be my model for structural change. But it reflects something real: a growing sense that traditional channels feel blocked, captured, or insufficient. That emotional truth is not something to dismiss lightly.
Why I Am Writing This
I am not asking anyone to agree with me.
I am not asking anyone to join a boycott.
I am not asking anyone to follow John Schwarz or reject him.
What I am asking is simpler, and harder.
Pay attention to what silence means in this moment.
Ask yourself whether staying quiet feels like neutrality, or whether it begins to feel like quiet permission.
Ask yourself what forms of lawful, non-violent civic resistance you are personally comfortable with, even if they are imperfect.
Because history suggests that democratic erosion does not usually announce itself with a single dramatic event. It happens through normalization. Through fatigue. Through people deciding it is easier not to speak, not to act, not to engage.
I still believe in pragmatism.
I also now believe that emotion is often the spark that makes pragmatism possible.
John Schwarz speaks to that spark. I may not share all of his methods. But I no longer dismiss the emotional ground he is standing on.
In times like these, even small acts of civic expression can serve a larger purpose: reminding each other that we are still paying attention.
That, in itself, is not nothing.
This is a link to the Instagram account of John Swartz. https://www.instagram.com/theonecalledjai/