“We love our country. Save our democracy. No kings,” says Davina Martínez, holding a protest sign with a raised brown fist and the handwritten word — “RESIST” — in bold red and black ink.
Standing amid rowdy chants and cheers, echoing against the sand-colored walls of a historic Tucson courthouse, Martínez is one of tens of thousands of people— citizens and non-citizens alike — who took to the streets across America on Saturday. They wanted their voices heard at the “No Kings” rallies against the actions and policies of President Donald Trump and his Republican administration.
“It’s not about our people, our education, our public health — We’re in danger with Trump,” Martínez says, as a woman passes carrying a sign with an American flag, a peace sign and a red heart that reads: “NO KINGS IN THE U.S.A.”
The fired-up rally crowd at downtown Tucson’s El Presidio Plaza includes religious leaders, pro-immigrant organizations, grassroots coalitions, labor unions, Democratic officials and families of all ages.
Demonstrators speak in Spanish and English in their borderlands community, where everyone understands when they hear “presente” that it’s a united show of support.
Members of the Tucson se Defiende Coalition say “presente” as they march through downtown Tucson to join supporters at the “No Kings” rally. Oct. 18, 2025. Credit: Dawn PageRepublicans have pushed back against the rallies calling the protests and protesters un-American.
Organizers say the rallies are a celebration of First Amendment rights to free speech and to assemble in solidarity. Protesters are pushing back against Trump administration policies, including aggressive immigration enforcement that has separated families, ignored due process rights to deport immigrants to foreign jails and ensnared U.S. citizens, as well as sent troops and masked agents into Democrat-leaning American cities.
The “No Kings” rally in Tucson stood out from the more than 2,700 planned demonstrations in cities and towns across the nation. In the Southwest state’s second largest municipality, many protesters denounced the Republican-controlled Congress for not swearing-in Congresswoman-elect Adelita Grijalva, leaving thousands of Southern Arizonans without representation in the legislative branch of their federal government.
Republican House Speaker Mike Johnson has refused to swear in Grijalva until the House is back in legislative session. Grijalva’s supporters have argued Johnson won’t swear her in because she pledged to be the deciding vote on a bill to release the Jeffrey Epstein files that may incriminate Trump.
Grijalva was elected nearly one month ago in a Sept. 23 special election, making history as the first Latina and Chicana to represent Arizona in Congress.
The race to represent Arizona’s Congressional District 7 — which encompasses a large swath of Southern Arizona and six counties — was spurred by the death in March of Raúl Grijalva, Adelita’s father. He represented the deep-blue district for more than 20 years. Democrats have threatened a lawsuit to force Johnson to uphold the rights of Southern Arizonans demanding representation.
Surrounded by local constituents, Congresswoman-elect Grijalva and Tucson Mayor Regina Romero are standing next to each other. Like Grijalva, Romero made history. Romero became Tucson’s first woman mayor, first Latina elected to the office and the only Latina mayor in the nation’s 50 largest cities when she won her first term in 2019.
Protesters recognize Grijalva and Romero for having long fought for each other, for Tucsonans, for the rights of immigrants, Latinos and the most vulnerable people in their communities. That matters to Tucsonans cheering as their elected Southern Arizona representatives encourage the crowd to fight for their country’s values of freedom, liberty, equality and justice.
“We’re defending democracy, fighting fascism and dictatorship, and oligarchy,” Romero says in an interview with Arizona Luminaria, before she speaks to the crowd, explaining why she joined the rally. “I want to make sure I let Tucsonans know that I stand in solidarity with them.”
The buzz around Grijalva’s delayed swearing-in ceremony resonates with demonstrators.
Their support turns into a rallying cry as Romero takes the stage. Chants of “Swear her in! Swear her in!” echo through the plaza as people call for an end to Trump-era politics. Grijalva throws a peace sign to the cheering crowd and places her hand over heart, standing in front of signs that say: “VETERANS AGAINST TRUMP” RESIST” “NO BANS. RAIDS. CAGES.”
“Yes, we want to swear in Adelita Grijalva because we voted for her fair and square,” Romero yells to the crowd. “We followed the rules. We want her in Congress.”
Invoking the legacy of late Congressman Raúl Grijalva, Romero raises her arm and shouts: “That is what he taught all of us — stand up in the face of power.”
As Grijalva takes the mic, chants of “Swear her in! Swear her in!” grow louder.
“I’m so grateful for your continued support,” Grijalva says. “We know how to fight back. Standing in union and solidarity is what we must do — for those who can’t be here, who are afraid of this administration. People are literally disappearing off our streets. We have to come together as a community and stand up for them.”
Grijalva speaks to the power of those able to show up.
“Thank you to each and every one of you for using your privilege to be here in unity. It’s an honor to be here with my community, my friends — and my mamá,” she says. “We love our community, and we want to make sure that generations from now, they can look back and know we stood up.”
Grijalva shares what many at the rally believe is at stake for their families, friends and their country.
“This administration wants to eliminate every one of us,” she says. “We are the 99%. We must remind them: We are here. We’re not going anywhere. And we’re going to make some changes in this next election.”
Grijalva also reflects on the legacy of her father: “My dad was unapologetically the most progressive member of Congress. He never stopped,” she says. “When he passed away, I had to make a decision — and that decision was easier because of the support of this community.”
Ending in a steady voice on the strength she draws from those who came before her, Grijalva recalls her grandfather’s words.
“So, when I get to Congress and they try to ignore me,” she says while the crowd boos, “as my Tata would say: No te dejes, mijita. I’m not going to. You elected an Adelita. Adelitas were women soldiers — guardians of the revolution. We are guerreras. And I will keep fighting until we get the representation this community deserves.”
From left: Martha Reyes, Arizona Jobs with Justice organizer, and her daughter Jimena Reyes, alongside Cecilia Valdez, chair of the Pima Area Labor Federation, represent workers at the “No Kings” rally in downtown Tucson. Oct. 18, 2025. Credit: Dawn Page.Cecilia Valdez, Chair of the Pima Area Labor Federation — which represents affiliated unions across Pima County — also urges Congress to swear in Grijalva, emphasizing that more than 800,000 constituents are currently without representation.
“My message today is that we’re in a labor organizing crisis,” Valdez says. “We’re facing serious challenges because of the Trump administration, which eliminated nearly a million federal government jobs. That impacts all workers — especially union members.”
Valdez continues as the crowd breaks into chants of, “Hey hey, ho ho, Donald Trump has got to go!”
“The fact that Trump is taking from the poor to feed the rich is wrong,” she says “Our federal workers need to go back to work — they shouldn’t be getting fired. They deserve the jobs they have.”
Mother and daughter Lidia and Melina Godínez show their support for their community and country during the “No Kings” rally in Tucson. Oct. 18, 2025. Credit: Dawn Page.
Lidia Godínez and her 10-year-old daughter, Melina Godínez, came to support their community and their country, carrying signs that read: “LONG LIVE REBELLION” and “I CAN’T BELIEVE I HAVE TO EXPLAIN THIS TO ADULTS.”
“To fight for our rights and support our community,” Godínez says. “I have daughters and sons, and I want them to grow up in a world where their voices are heard. We need to keep rallying and protesting because this is what’s right — to show that we care and support each other.”
Melina’s handmade sign in red and blue paint on white posterboard is so big, she holds it just under her chin, over her long black hair and covering her body down to her knees. Her fingers curl alongside the all-caps word: “EXPLAIN.”
‘We are guerreras.’ Tucson ‘No Kings’ rally demands Congress swear in Adelita Grijalva, end to Trump era was first published on Arizona Luminaria and republished with permission.
Dawn Page is a freelance reporter.
Demonstrators rally outside the U.S. Supreme Court as justices hear oral arguments on whether President Donald Trump can deny citizenship to children born to parents who are in the United States illegally or temporarily, on Capitol Hill, in Washington, Wednesday, April 1, 2026. (AP Photo/Mariam Zuhaib)
Luz Angela Nuñez with her daughter Aisha Quershi Nuñez at their home in College Point, Queens. Photo: Mia Anzalone for Documented.
Kimberly Alvarez, 25, with her daughter Evangeline and her husband John Alvarez in Medellin, Colombia. Photo courtesy of Kimberly Alvarez.Alvarez arrived in New York City in February 2024 with her husband John Alvarez as asylum seekers from Venezuela. In April 2025, Alvarez found out she was pregnant with her first child, a baby girl. Her first reaction, she said, was fear.“How am I going to keep her alive?” she said. “That’s what I was thinking. ‘How am I going to be able to take care of her?’”At the beginning of Alvarez’s pregnancy, she said she was aware of the immigration enforcement occurring around the country, but vowed not to let it deter her from showing up to her doctor’s appointments.“When you went out, you were always on alert because you didn’t know if [ICE] might be around. I never saw anything suspicious,” Alvarez said. “But of course, you feel scared.”In October, when Alvarez was six months pregnant, her husband was detained by ICE agents at 26 Federal Plaza. When the immediate shock wore off, she obsessively checked the Online Detainee Locator System to find out where her husband went. A day later, she discovered that he was being kept at Delaney Hall detention center in New Jersey. Alvarez quickly set up an account to pay for phone calls, and every two days, she would pay about $10 for a one-hour call, updating her husband about the baby, her appointments and how she was doing.“Crying was the only way for me to release the tension,” said Alvarez, who worried that her lack of sleep and bad diet were impacting her baby. “Crying was the only way for me to release the tension.”—Kimberly AlvarezThat tension built up day by day, week by week following her husband’s arrest. Alvarez had stopped her work as a cleaner in the neighborhood’s synagogues two weeks before her husband’s detention because of her pregnancy. The plan, she said, was to rely solely on his income as a maintenance worker for “the food, the rent, everything.” Left with few choices, Kimberley had to rely on her mother’s income as a cleaner. The older woman had moved to New York from North Carolina to assist with Alvarez’s pregnancy. “I feel like I’m supposed to help my mom, not the other way around,” Alvarez said. “I felt powerless because I couldn’t do anything.”On Dec. 9, Alvarez gave birth to a daughter, Evangeline. While her baby was healthy, Alvarez’s anxieties did not go away. While she returned to cleaning synagogues a few months after Evangeline’s birth to help make ends meet, Alvarez and her daughter rarely left home. Alvarez said she felt paralyzed, getting frequent alerts from a neighborhood WhatsApp group when ICE was spotted nearby. One day, she said, ICE arrested her friend’s husband in Sunset Park, in an area where she would sometimes take Evangeline for walks.“I’m so afraid that I’ll go out and run into one of them and that they’ll take her away from me,” Alvarez said. “That’s my biggest fear, that someone will take her away from me and I won’t know where my daughter is.”In March, her husband decided to voluntarily remove himself from the United States and move back to Colombia, where he is originally from. It was a family decision, but it was not a happy one — hiring immigration lawyers was too expensive, Alvarez said, adding that staying in the U.S. felt too uncertain. 