Dwain Northey (Gen X)

Joyful Noise: The Trump-Miller 2025 Edict for the Destruction of a Nation

There’s a John Lennon quote—somewhere between a whisper and a scream—that goes something like this: “When you talk about destruction, you can count me out… in.” It’s the sly wink of someone who understood that authoritarianism feeds on fear and fury, that regimes built on chaos want nothing more than to provoke the rest of us into rage so they can claim the mantle of “law and order.” Lennon also said, more directly, that power doesn’t know what to do with joy—tyrants understand guns, not guitars; anger, not laughter; submission, not song.

And that’s where the Trump–Miller 2025 project is failing before it even gets fully underway. Their so-called “Edict for American Restoration” (which sounds more like a dystopian Netflix series than actual governance) is nothing less than an attempt to dismantle the institutions, freedoms, and communities that make this country worth saving. But the one thing they didn’t anticipate? That Americans are very, very good at turning despair into joyful noise.

They want us furious. They want us breaking windows so they can declare martial law. They want Portland every night of 2020—but with the twist that they get to be the heroes this time. But instead, what they got were No Kings rallies: millions of people, peaceful, dancing, laughing, holding signs with biting satire, and cleaning up after themselves. No torches. No Molotovs. Just music, art, and the stubborn audacity of joy. It was a direct affront to their entire political strategy. They were waiting for an excuse to invoke the Insurrection Act—waiting for a spark of violence to justify a hammer. But when faced with costumes, ukuleles, and absurdist protest signs that read “Dictators Are Just Guys Who Never Learned to Share,” they were left speechless.

Think of Portland’s example. When federal agents in unmarked vans snatched protesters off the streets, the people responded not with fire, but with glitter. There were the “Wall of Moms,” the “Leaf Blower Dads,” and—most gloriously—the “Tuba Brigade,” blasting out brass renditions of protest songs to drown out police sirens. It was absurd. It was brilliant. And it was effective. The cruelty machine runs on fear; it chokes on laughter.

Imagine that kind of joyful resistance on a national scale. When Trump announces his latest “Order for Patriotic Purity,” respond with a parade of clowns dressed as Founding Fathers on roller skates. When Miller drafts another xenophobic policy, organize a mariachi flash mob on the Capitol steps. When they rail about “Godless liberals,” flood the streets with gospel choirs singing “This Little Light of Mine.” Their darkness cannot comprehend the noise of joy—it has no countermeasure for art, dance, or collective laughter.

They want rage; give them rhythm.

They want chaos; give them choreography.

They want blood in the streets; give them brass bands, bubbles, and banners that mock their smallness.

The truth is, joyful defiance is the most radical act in the face of authoritarianism. It says: you cannot have my despair. It reminds us that resistance isn’t just about survival—it’s about preserving the soul of the country. The No Kings rallies embodied that truth. They turned Trump’s fantasy of a violent uprising into a nationwide dance floor. They robbed him of his power by refusing to play his game.

So yes—the Trump-Miller edict is real, dangerous, and destructive. But history shows that authoritarian movements don’t crumble when we shout louder. They crumble when the people laugh at their pomposity, sing over their lies, and make joy contagious.

In the end, joy is louder than hate.

And that’s the noise they can’t silence.