“When I see pictures of the ‘No Kings’ protest, I smile and think — “Thank God we live in a free country that lets you say that. No king in history ever did.”

That’s the beauty of America: we can raise our voices, disagree with our leaders, and even mock power without being thrown in prison. But lately, I’ve noticed something troubling. While some shout “No Kings,” their movements are still ruled by fear — fear of people, fear of power, and fear of the future.

I know what it’s like to live under fear. When I was seven, my parents packed up our family and moved into an Amish community because they were afraid of Y2K. The world was supposed to end at midnight on Jan. 1, 2000. We stocked up food, prepared for chaos, and waited for the collapse that never came. The clock struck twelve, and nothing happened.

As I grew older, I watched the same pattern repeat itself — FEMA camps, martial law, the end of liberty as we knew it. None of it came true. I’ve heard the same predictions from both sides of the political aisle. Every few years, someone insists this is the moment America falls apart. And every time, we’re still here.

That doesn’t mean our nation doesn’t face real problems—it does. But campaigns and movements built on fear rarely produce lasting results. They can create a momentary surge of passion, but they don’t build communities, families, or solutions. Fear exhausts people. It burns hot and then burns out.

Fear burns hot — but it always burns out

Psychologists have long observed how fear distorts the human mind. When a message of threat or panic is repeated enough, people begin to accept it as reality—whether it’s true or not. It’s called the illusory truth effect: the more we hear something, the more believable it becomes. Fear short-circuits rational thought, replacing evidence with emotion. That’s why repetition is so powerful in politics—it doesn’t just spread ideas; it reshapes perception.

Repetition doesn’t make truth — it just makes noise sound familiar

History shows that when discontentment centers around one person — hero or villain — the movement collapses as soon as that figure leaves the stage. Anger may gather a crowd, but it doesn’t sustain a culture. Only vision can do that.

Both major parties now rely on fear to motivate voters. One side warns of fascism; the other insists socialism is coming. Each election is called “the most important in our lifetime.” But when every election is framed that way, people grow numb.

Fear can topple kings, but it can’t raise up citizens

The “No Kings” movement, at its best, expresses something I deeply believe—that no man or woman should rule over others as if they were divine. Our founders rejected monarchy for that very reason. But freedom requires more than rejecting kings—it requires rejecting fear. Because fear can become its own kind of tyrant.

When we let fear rule, we see enemies everywhere. We lose faith in neighbors. We assume the worst in others. And slowly, the freedoms we claim to defend erode—not because they were taken from us, but because we surrendered them to suspicion and outrage.

We can do better than that. The kind of America worth preserving is one built on courage, not panic—on hope, not hysteria. On the willingness to take responsibility for our communities instead of waiting for someone else—whether king, president, or party—to fix everything for us.

When I talk to people across Colorado, I find that most of us agree on more than the headlines suggest. We want our families safe. We want schools to teach truth and excellence. We want to afford a home and keep the lights on without government overreach. Those aren’t partisan goals—they’re human ones.

“The story of America isn’t collapse—it’s resilience.”

If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that every generation faces its own “end of the world.” The Cold War, Y2K, terrorism, pandemics, political unrest—we’ve seen them all. Yet every time, Americans rise with creativity and faith.

So yes, let’s reject kings. But let’s also reject fear. Because fear, not monarchy, is the real tyrant of our time. It doesn’t come with a crown—it comes as a whisper that says, “It’s over.”

But history tells us otherwise.

We are still here.

Still free.

Still building.

Caleb Waller is a financial professional, community organizer, and former candidate for Colorado House District 57. He lives with his wife and seven children in Silt.