Category: Immigration Law

I’m Kayla. I write reviews. Usually about gear, apps, or coffee makers. But this time, I’m reviewing an experience I actually had: two protests in the Denver area about ICE. Different days, same cause. I took notes like I always do. I watched. I listened. I felt a lot.

If you’d like an even deeper, play-by-play rundown of the same action, I put together a separate field diary you can skim here: I Went to a Denver Protest About ICE — Here’s My Honest Take. It holds every moment that couldn’t fit in this shorter recap.

And yeah, I brought snacks. Because snacks matter.

Quick take

• Energy: strong, warm, and loud (in a good way)
• Safety support: better than I expected
• Police presence: clear and tense at times
• Access: mixed, depends on the spot
• Would I go again: yes, but with a hat, water, and a plan

Why I went

Simple. I care about families staying together. I wanted to show up, not just post. Also, I’m a nerd for how events run. I like to see what works and what falls apart. You know what? Both things matter here.

For context, I try to witness different kinds of direct action whenever I can; earlier this year I spent a stormy afternoon at an East-Coast reproductive-rights showdown and wrote up my impressions in I Went to an Anti-Abortion Protest in Boston — My Honest Take. Seeing how those organizers handled tension shaped what I looked for in Denver.

Two real moments that stuck with me

1. Downtown rally by the State Capitol
   It was a Saturday, late afternoon. Hot. The kind of dry heat that sneaks up on you in Denver. People spread out on the steps and the grass at Civic Center Park. I saw signs in English and Spanish. Some were sharpie on cardboard. Some looked like a design studio made them. One read “Families Belong Together.” Another said “Abolish ICE.” Drums, a megaphone, and a chorus of “No justice, no peace.” A teen next to me held the mic and shared how scared she felt for her dad. Her voice shook. A stranger passed tissues down the line. That small kindness? It mattered.
   If you want a straight news rundown of a similar afternoon rally at the Capitol, Colorado Newsline covered it in depth.

2. Evening vigil near the Aurora ICE facility
   Quieter. Heavy. People brought candles and glow sticks. A pastor led a short prayer. I’m not super religious, but I felt the hush settle over us. Legal observers in green hats took notes. Street medics had red crosses taped on their packs. A woman passing water asked if I needed sunscreen. I did. I forgot my SPF. Rookie mistake. We stood along the sidewalk, and cars honked in support. One man yelled from a truck. Folks near me didn’t take the bait. A de-escalator, wearing a bright vest, asked us to step back a bit. We did. No drama. Just a slow breath.
   You can read how community groups framed this protest in CIRC's own write-up for background on why so many showed up.
   If you’re curious about how volunteers learn that kind of calm conflict resolution, check out Operation Defuse — their free primers on de-escalation are surprisingly practical.

What worked well

• Clear roles: Legal observers in green hats, medics with red crosses, and marshals in bright vests. It made me feel less alone in the crowd.
• Mutual aid tables: Water, Gatorade, fruit, and granola bars. One table had electrolyte powder. That saved me later.
• Sound: The megaphone was loud enough at the Capitol rally. I could hear the speakers without pushing forward.
• Family-friendly zones: I saw strollers, kids in ear protection, and a little art corner with chalk.
• Translation: A few speakers had Spanish translation. Not perfect, but they tried. I respect that.

What felt rough

• Heat and shade: The Capitol lawn has some trees, but not many. People were crowded under the branches. I felt it in my face—sunburn city.
• Police lines: Bike cops formed a line during the march near Broadway. It got tense. No big clash, but the mood shifted. I was alert, not relaxed.
• Access: Sidewalk curbs near the vigil were broken in spots. A person with a mobility aid had trouble. A few of us helped, but ramps were far.
• Sound at the vigil: The speakers were soft. Wind snatched the words. I caught most of it, but not all.

Small things that mattered

• Chants: “No ICE, no KKK, no fascist USA” and “Sí se puede.” They kept the pace and gave shy folks a way to join.
• Art: Chalk messages by kids made the space feel kind. Butterflies and hearts. It softened a hard topic.
• Trash: Volunteers handed out bags and did sweeps. The parks looked okay after. Respect.

Gear I used and liked

• Nalgene bottle with a carabiner: Easy to clip to my bag.
• Neutrogena SPF 50 (borrowed): Didn’t sting my face.
• A wide-brim Columbia hat: Not cute, but it worked.
• Lightweight runners, not sandals: Saved my feet on hot concrete.
• Sharpie and cardboard from a Trader Joe’s box: My sign held up. My hand did not cramp.

Feelings, because they’re part of it

Was I scared? A little, during the bike line moment.
Was I moved? Yes. A woman near me cried while holding a candle. I cried too.
Did I feel heard? Kind of. I’m one voice. But together, we were a wall of sound. That felt strong.

Sometimes the adrenaline of protest fades into a need for light-hearted connection; if unwinding with consenting adults sounds like your style, you can explore MeetnFuck — it’s a quick-match platform where grown-ups find no-strings-attached meetups nearby, perfect for de-stressing without a long planning curve.
If your travel or work schedule ever puts you in Illinois and you’re curious about casual meet-ups beyond Denver’s orbit, the local listings scene in the Fox Valley has its own vibe—Backpage Elgin breaks down who’s available, what they’re into, and how to connect safely, so you can skip the guesswork and focus on finding the right fit for your downtime.

Safety and care notes I’m glad I followed

• Wrote a legal hotline on my arm. Didn’t need it, but it calmed me.
• Told a friend where I was. Met up at a clear spot (by the big statue) in case we got split.
• Brought snacks. Salted almonds are small heroes.
• Earplugs in my pocket. Sirens can spike fast.

The habit of prepping for worst-case scenarios might sound dramatic, but it comes from reading pieces like What Happens to Prisoners During Martial Law? My First-Hand Review. Once you know how fast rights can shrink, you keep that hotline number close.

What I’d change next time

• Bring extra SPF sticks to hand out.
• Pack two cold packs in a freezer bag. Heat is sneaky here.
• Ask organizers about ADA routes ahead of time. Then share that on a sign or on a board.
• More shade tents, even small pop-ups, if allowed.

Who this is for

• First-timers who want to show up and not feel lost
• Parents who need a calmer zone
• Folks who need to know there’s water, help, and people watching out for you

My verdict

• Community support: 5/5
• Safety planning: 4/5 (clear roles helped a lot)
• Access and shade: 2.5/5 (Denver sun is no joke)
• Overall experience: 4/5

Here’s the thing: protests can feel big and messy. This one felt big, but cared for. Not perfect—nothing is—but present, steady, and human. I went home tired, dusty, and hopeful. And yes, I’d go again, with more sunscreen and maybe a second water bottle. Honestly, that’s my kind of five-star fix.

I went because it felt personal. I live here. I work here. I ride the bus past giant billboards and half-built stadiums. I see the taxes, the traffic, the noise. But who gets heard? Not us. So “No Kings” made sense to me. No kings, no crowns, no special rules. Just folks trying to live.
If you want an even deeper dive into the planning drama and a few pictures of the hand-drawn posters, I broke that down in a longer write-up you can find right here.

The meet-up: Fountains, heat, and a beat-up megaphone

We met by the Bellagio fountains right before sunset. Smart call. The dry heat still hit like a hair dryer, but the shade stretched long. A guy in a Golden Knights hat handed out frozen grapes from a cooler. He said his name was Manny. “I work swing at a steakhouse,” he told me, “I love this city. I just want it to love us back.” The call had gone out through local circles like Indivisible Las Vegas, so faces felt familiar even if names didn’t.

The crowd wasn’t huge, but it wasn’t tiny either. I saw:

• Teens with patched backpacks (one patch read “No gods, no kings, only us”).
• A grandmother in comfy sneakers, gray bun, bright pink water bottle.
• A dealer named Rosa, still in her black pants, telling a young couple, “I’m off graveyard. If I look tired, I am.”

People taped signs to paint sticks. “No Kings, Just Neighbors.” “Public Money, Public Good.” Someone drew a crown with a big red X. The marker bled from the heat.

A walk on the Strip: Signs, chants, and slot-machine music

We took the sidewalk past Caesars toward the Flamingo crosswalk. A street drummer kept a steady beat with two old sticks. I could feel it in my ribs. The strip’s normal noise didn’t stop. Chimes, horns, a street Elvis. He gave a thumbs up and kept singing. It was oddly sweet.

Chants started and stalled. That happens. The one that stuck went like this:
“No kings, no kings — neighbors first!”
Short, loud, and easy. Even the tourists got it.

One guy from Iowa asked me, “No kings… like the hockey team?” I laughed. “No, more like no special crowns for rich folks.” He nodded and took a photo. He said, “Fair.” Then he drifted toward Margaritaville. Vegas does that to people.

I even overheard a linen-suited tourist waving a thick cigar, bragging to his buddy that the smoke was “pure testosterone in leaf form.” Spoiler: it’s not. If you’ve ever wondered whether cigars can really spike your hormones, this research deep-dive at Do Cigars Boost Testosterone? (Hint: It’s Not What You Expect) breaks down the myth with solid science and offers a reality check before you light up for the wrong reasons.

Police, marshals, and a little moment of calm

Metro was there on bikes. Straight faces, but not jumpy. A sergeant told our marshals, “Stay to the right.” The marshals wore orange hats and kept us tight at crosswalks. We wrote a legal hotline number on our arms. Just in case. (Turns out those digits were for the ACLU of Nevada’s protest-rights line, which felt reassuring.)

At one point, a preacher yelled about sin. A teen next to me, freckles and braces, whispered, “We’re talking about buses and rent.” We both smiled. Tension faded. The drums picked up again.
The relative ease of those negotiations actually echoed what I experienced during the ICE protest up in Denver, where street medics and officers also managed to keep the mood mostly even-keeled.

What hit me: Small scenes that stuck

• A cook handed me a water bottle and said, “I missed my nap for this.” Same, friend.
• A little chalk crown melted on the curb near the Mirage volcano. It slid like pastel butter.
• A woman in scrubs told a TV crew, “I don’t hate fun. I hate not being seen.” That line stayed with me.

You know what? Moments like that are why I came. Not for a big speech. For the tiny truths.

The parts that didn’t work great

Let me be honest. Some things were rough.

• The megaphone died mid-sentence. Traffic swallowed the rest.
• Tourists got pushy for selfie angles. One nearly backed into a bike cop.
• Heat is a beast. I wore SPF 50 and still got a sharp little sunburn stripe on my wrist.

Also, a speaker went long and lost the crowd. It happens. Short stories win on the Strip. Keep it tight, keep it kind.

What worked better than I expected

• Clear route. Staying on the right side kept us flowing.
• Cold snacks. Frozen grapes were a game changer.
• Kind tone. No shouting matches, even when folks poked at us. We showed steady care. That matters here.

My quick tips if you plan to go next time

For a deeper dive into protest safety and de-escalation strategies, see the guides at Operation Defuse.

• Bring a soft hat, a mini fan, and a frozen water bottle. Trust me on the frozen part.
• Write a contact number on your arm. Use a thick marker so sweat won’t erase it.
• Park off-Strip if you can. I left my car by the Orleans and took a ride over. Cheaper. Less stress.
• Bathrooms are tricky. I ducked into the CVS by Miracle Mile and bought gum so I could use theirs.
• Wear shoes you can stand in for hours. I wore my beat-up Vans. No regrets.
• Commuting in from SoCal? If you’re based around Covina and need a quick way to line up rideshares or last-minute room rentals before a big march, check out One Night Affair’s Covina community classifieds — it keeps a running board of local ads so you can sort lodging, transport, or even a post-protest bite without wading through generic national sites.

Why it mattered to me

I’m not big on fights. I’m big on fairness. And this felt like fairness. We live here. We clean the rooms, drive the cabs, cook the steaks, deal the cards, mop the floors, and sing the songs. We’re the rhythm. Not the crown.
Contrast that with the charged atmosphere I documented at an anti-abortion rally in Boston—different stakes, different city, but the same core question of whose voice counts.

Was it perfect? No. Did it feel real? Yes. I walked back past the fountains with sore feet and a full heart. That’s corny, but it’s true. Vegas glowed gold in the water spray, and for a second, the Strip felt like ours.

My rating

4 out of 5. Strong message, kind crowd, shaky sound. I’d show up again, and I’d bring extra sunscreen and a spare battery for that poor megaphone.

Quick note before we start: This is a fictionalized, first-person review based on how I use Uber and Lyft a lot in New York, plus common protest patterns and public info. It’s written like a day in my shoes, but it’s a made-up day. Still, the details match what the apps and streets feel like when things get tense. If you’re curious about an expanded narrative that digs deeper into the same NYC driver walk-out, I broke it down in a separate field report here.

Morning rush that didn’t rush

I opened both apps at 8:15 a.m. in Midtown. The Uber map looked like a hot skillet—dark red. A banner warned me about “high demand.” Lyft showed a “busy area” ribbon and longer ETAs.

A normal ride from Chelsea to LaGuardia? I usually see $42 to $55. Today’s example quote jumped to $96 on Uber and $84 on Lyft. Some observers have wondered if parallel spikes hint at coordinated pricing tactics, a theory highlighted in a recent Reuters investigation. Wait times went from 6 minutes to 22 minutes, then the cars vanished. Poof. You know what? That empty map feels personal when you have luggage by the door.
While killing time staring at a motionless map, I sometimes scroll other apps to distract myself—lately I’ve been testing out a casual dating platform called JustBang where you can line up low-key meetups as quickly as you’d hail a ride, turning dead-air delays into something a lot more interesting. For travelers who might bounce from NYC down to the Atlanta metro area later in the week, checking the local listings on the Backpage McDonough site can open the door to spontaneous, vetted connections, complete with location filters and real-time chat so you can make plans without losing precious minutes to indecision.

I shut the apps. I made coffee. I tried again.

What the apps did under stress

• Uber kept moving my pin to the wrong corner. It snapped from 7th Ave to the far side of the block. Annoying, but common in Midtown canyons.
• Lyft asked me to “walk to a better pickup spot” near a bus lane. Fair ask. Bus lanes get tickets fast.
• ETAs were honest, which I like. But they slid. A 12-minute car aged to 19, then 24. It’s like dog years for commuters.

Honestly, both apps stayed usable. Not graceful, but usable. The maps lagged a bit when the surge spread across the bridges.

Small example moments that felt big

These are composite moments that show the vibe when drivers protest or slow down.

1. Midtown to Downtown, 9:40 a.m.
   I got a Lyft Lux quote for $64—way more than usual. I picked Lyft Standard for $38 and a 17-minute wait. The driver messaged: “Please meet me on the avenue. Cops ticket side streets today.” That small note saved us both. The ride took 31 minutes. I tipped $12. It felt right after the stress.

2. Queens to JFK, noon window
   Uber showed a “fare may be higher” warning. The upfront price was $78, which is high for that route in light traffic. The driver route wiggled around a blocked approach. I saw the little reroute swirl three times. We still made it. He said nothing in chat, but the driving was careful and smooth.

3. Crosstown, rain at 3 p.m.
   Lyft flickered “No drivers available,” then came back with a shared ride for $11. I took it. The pickup asked me to walk to a corner with a wide curb. Great call. We avoided the mess in front of a loading dock. Wet day, but chill ride.

Why drivers were upset (the plain version)

Let me explain the mix I’ve seen across the years and reports:

• Pay floors: NYC has set pay rules (see the official TLC driver pay standards). But apps tweak rates and bonuses. Drivers say their take-home drops when surge goes weird or bonuses dry up.
• Airport time: Waiting at JFK or LaGuardia can eat hours. If your next ride is short, that time hurts.
• Costs: Gas, tolls, insurance, and car leases add up. A week of bad luck? That’s rough.
• Deactivations: If the app boots you, appeals can feel slow and cold. Drivers want a clear path back.
• Tips: Riders mean well, but tip prompts can be clunky. Mid-trip tip options would help.

Is all that on one day? Not always. But on protest days, the pain shows up on the map. The drivers’ frustration mirrored what I heard during a march in Charlotte, and if you want the play-by-play, check out my field notes here.

What changed my day

I pivoted. Subway to Herald Square. E train to Queens. Then a Citi Bike for the last mile. The ride was breezy, and my hair was not. I kept Uber open just in case. It’s funny how fast you learn a Plan B, then a Plan C. New Yorkers do this like it’s breathing.

Did the apps fail me? No. They just made me think harder.

How the rides felt, human-wise

I’ve had chatty drivers and quiet drivers. On days like this, even the quiet ones feel tired. You can hear it in the turns, in the soft brakes, in the deep sigh at a red light that should be green. And you can feel your own mood go tight. Little kindness helps. A “Thanks for coming for me,” goes a long way.
For a deeper dive into how small gestures and clear communication can de-escalate tense situations between drivers and riders, check out the practical guides over at Operation Defuse. A similar mix of tension and empathy was on full display when I attended an ICE protest in Denver, which I wrote about here.

Nerdy app bits I noticed

• Upfront fares stayed stable once I booked. Good. Surprises mid-trip would make me bail.
• Uber’s rerouter is strong, but the pickup pin still jumps near tall buildings.
• Lyft’s pickup chat is clutch. Short notes save minutes, and minutes save sanity.

Quick tips if you’re riding during a protest

• Walk to a wider street. Give them room to pull in.
• Add a short pickup note. “NW corner by the deli” beats “in front.”
• Don’t spam requests and cancel. That hurts drivers.
• Budget time and money. Build a 20-minute buffer. Maybe 40.
• Tip like it matters, because it does.

What I wish Uber and Lyft would do

• Pay clarity: Show a simple, honest pay bar for drivers, in real time.
• Airport wait pay: A floor for long waits in the lot would change the vibe.
• Deactivation help: A fast, in-app appeal with a real person.
• Tip prompts: Give riders a mid-ride nudge after tough segments. Or a final “say thanks” card that doesn’t feel pushy.

So, how do I rate this?

As a rider who leans on both apps, here’s my feel:

• Reliability on a protest day: 3.5/5
• Map and routing: 4/5
• Price fairness under stress: 3/5
• Human touch (messages, notes, tone): 4/5

Would I still use them? Yes. But I plan. I mix trains, bikes, and feet. I talk to drivers through the app. I tip. I try to act like I’m sharing the street, not owning it.

Here’s the thing: The apps are code. The cars are people. When drivers protest in NYC, the city reminds you of that. And even in a made-up day like this one, the lesson feels real.