The first protest I ever attended was an anti-Trump march in 2016 in Houston, Texas. What struck me most wasn’t the chants or the signs; it was the tension. Cars drove past honking — not in support, but in anger. Some people spit out their windows, yelling profanities as they drove away. At that moment, the protest felt confrontational and uncomfortable. We weren’t just expressing a political opinion; we were directly facing people who believed our rights and identity did not deserve protection.

Fast-forward several years, and I attended an anti-ICE protest outside the federal courthouse in downtown LA. The atmosphere felt different; the shouting from passing cars this time was in support and the honking didn’t make me flinch. Instead, hundreds of people stood together in solidarity, holding signs calling for immigrant rights and the end of deportation raids. The protest in LA began peacefully, with a sense of unity among those gathered to challenge government policy. In Houston, the atmosphere felt far more confrontational. It wasn’t simply citizens standing up to power; citizens were turning against each other.

In recent years, protests have become one of the most visible forms of political expression in the U.S. and around the world. Demonstrations against immigration enforcement, rallies for women’s rights and marches supporting movements like Black Lives Matter have filled streets nationwide. International conflicts — including wars in Palestine and Iran — have sparked protests thousands of miles away as people express solidarity with those affected. But the sheer number of demonstrations has also led to a growing skepticism about their impact. This raises a question that many activists ask themselves: Do protests actually change anything?

Legal scholar Richard Thompson Ford argues in his 2020 essay “Protest Fatigue” that protests have become so common they risk losing their effectiveness. He writes that while protests have historically driven social change, their overuse can dilute their power and turn them into events that “preach to the choir,” or gatherings where everyone already agrees with one another.

Ford warns that demonstrations sometimes function more as “morale-boosting experiences” for participants than as meaningful political interventions. In cities where the majority of residents already support a cause, protests may do little to persuade those in power or change policy.

It’s a fair critique. In many progressive cities, protests against racism, immigration enforcement or gender inequality often occur in communities where those values are already widely accepted by residents. Marching in those spaces can feel symbolic rather than transformative.

Yet dismissing protests as ineffective misses an important psychological and political reality.

Even when protests don’t immediately change laws, they can reshape how people understand themselves and their communities. Psychologist Lauren Duncan, who studies activism and civic engagement, argues that participation in protests helps people feel politically empowered and connected to others who share their values. In moments when the political system feels unresponsive, collective action can provide a sense of agency that neither voting nor posting online can.

Social media, of course, has also changed the scale of activism. Platforms like Instagram, TikTok and Twitter allow movements to spread rapidly. What once required months of planning can now begin with a single viral post. While this accessibility helps mobilize large crowds, it also contributes to the sense that protests have become routine rather than extraordinary. However, standing in a crowd of strangers holding signs about something you believe in does something that scrolling through social media can’t physically do: it reminds you that you are not alone.

Historically, protests have always played a crucial role in social change. The civil rights movement, the women’s suffrage movement and anti-war demonstrations all relied on public mobilization to force political leaders to confront injustice. Ford notes that the most effective protests shared three characteristics: legitimacy, efficacy and self-sacrifice. Movements like the March on Washington and the Montgomery bus boycott worked because they not only challenged unjust systems but disrupted everyday life and involved real risk for participants.

Today’s protests may look different, but the underlying motivations remain the same; they are participating in a long tradition of using public space to demand accountability. The challenge is not whether protests should exist; it is how they can remain meaningful.

Part of the answer may lie in recognizing that protests are only one piece of political engagement. Demonstrations raise awareness, but they must be paired with voting and policy advocacy to produce lasting change. Protests can ignite movements, but they cannot sustain them alone.

Another lesson is that protests can serve different purposes depending on context. Sometimes they aim to pressure those in power directly. Other times, they build solidarity among communities facing discrimination or political uncertainty. In moments when progress feels impossible, simply gathering in public can be an act of resistance.

That was the feeling I experienced at the anti-ICE protest in LA. No law changed that day. Yet people stayed for hours, chanting and sharing stories about family members affected by deportation raids. As a Latina, it reminded me that hundreds of others share my concerns, and that anger and fear can be directed elsewhere rather than doomscrolling.

Protests help keep democracy alive. They may not always lead to immediate change, but they contribute to the collective pressure that eventually pushes societies toward greater justice.

Contact Martina Long at mlong2@oxy.edu