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National Guard soldiers are seen on Capitol Hill in Washington, D.C., the United States, on January 14, 2021.
The executive order’s timing, scope, and ambiguity suggest that the federal government is not preparing for peaceful civic engagement on April 5, but rather girding itself for defiance.
"We've seen encampments cleared, phones tapped, and permits held up—but this? This feels like they're preparing for war," said Marisol Jennings, a D.C.-based organizer who has coordinated protests since 2017.
Just days before thousands of Americans are expected to gather in Washington, D.C. to protest the Trump administration's policies, a sweeping new executive order threatens to transform the nation's capital into a showcase for authoritarian policing.
Signed on March 27, the order—Making the District of Columbia Safe and Beautiful—appears less concerned with beautification than with containment. Its provisions call for surging federal law enforcement, accelerating immigration crackdowns, and strictly enforcing vague "quality-of-life" directives for the city. And its timing, just a week before what organizers are calling the most consequential day of protest since President Donald Trump's return to office, is raising alarm from civil rights lawyers, city officials, and veteran demonstrators.
April 5 could become a barometer for how far Americans are willing to go to resist encroaching authoritarianism—and how far their government is willing to go to stop them.
This aggressive reordering of public space arrives at a politically volatile moment. On April 5, demonstrators from across the country will convene under the banner "Hands Off!"—a coordinated protest against Project 2025, growing executive overreach, and the erosion of democratic norms. But these protests will unfold on ground that has just been legally redefined. The executive order establishes a federal task force with sweeping discretion to enforce federal statutes, remove homeless encampments, and sanitize public areas—rhetoric that critics fear is coded language for suppressing civil dissent. One of the EO's most striking directives calls for expanding the presence of federal law enforcement in Washington, D.C., and increasing enforcement of so-called "quality-of-life" regulations in public spaces, including parks and federal landmarks.
Civil liberties advocates point to the EO's targeting of "unpermitted" demonstrations and disruptive gatherings as a thinly veiled attempt to preempt large-scale mobilization. In a city where the right to protest has long been protected even under strain, the threat of being forcibly removed or detained for a sign, a chant, or an unauthorized step into the street carries profound implications. "You don't need to ban protests if you can criminalize every protester," one ACLU attorney told me. "Public noise ordinances, anti-loitering laws, unauthorized signage—those become the new tools of political suppression."
The fear is not hypothetical. Activists organizing the April 5 protests have already reported increased surveillance and delays in permitting. Groups representing immigrants and unhoused communities are reconsidering participation altogether. The EO directs federal agencies to maximize "enforcement of Federal immigration law" and redirect available "law enforcement resources to apprehend and deport illegal aliens in the Washington, D.C. metropolitan area," a mandate that has already created a chilling effect among undocumented residents, some of whom now fear that attending a peaceful march could result in deportation. In response, the National Homelessness Law Center warned that the order "will worsen homelessness in D.C., violate rights, and waste resources," especially with the federal push to "promptly remove and clean up all homeless encampments."
Then there is the question of firearms. Nestled within the order is a provision directing local entities to expedite and reduce the cost of concealed carry licenses in the District of Columbia. In a city with some of the country's strictest gun laws, this shift could radically alter the atmosphere of a mass protest. Armed counterprotesters, legally carrying under the new directive, may now appear in greater numbers—creating conditions ripe for intimidation or escalation. Police, too, may respond with heightened aggression, assuming the risk of firearms in the crowd. As one security analyst from Georgetown University put it, "You're introducing legal ambiguity and lethal potential into an already volatile situation."
But the risk of physical violence is just one dimension of the broader threat.
For many organizers, the stakes are not just physical—they're existential. "This is a test run," said Rami Kareem, a civil rights attorney affiliated with the Brennan Center for Justice. "What they're doing in D.C. could easily be replicated in Atlanta, Phoenix, or Milwaukee if it succeeds. If people stop showing up out of fear, the right to protest dies quietly, without a single law being passed."
Legal analysts point out that the EO contains intentionally broad language, such as directing agencies to deploy a "more robust Federal law enforcement presence" to ensure "that all applicable quality of life, nuisance, and public-safety laws are strictly enforced." Additionally, the EO mandates "prompt removal and cleanup of all homeless or vagrant encampments and graffiti on Federal land." These directives could grant law enforcement considerable discretion to interpret and potentially suppress protest gatherings, signage, and activities under the guise of enforcing public safety and beautification measures.
Even before the order, Project 2025 had stirred significant public anxiety about the centralization of federal authority and the erosion of institutional norms. But this EO provides an immediate, tangible mechanism to contain dissent—not just in D.C., but in any city with significant federal presence. As national attention turns toward the capital on April 5, many movement leaders see it as a galvanizing moment: either a line is held in defense of civil resistance, or a line is crossed in the normalization of political suppression. "If people stay home out of fear, it tells them this worked. If we show up in mass, it tells them we still have power," Jennings said. "That choice is still ours."
What's at stake goes far beyond the fate of one demonstration. April 5 could become a barometer for how far Americans are willing to go to resist encroaching authoritarianism—and how far their government is willing to go to stop them. If the demonstrators are met with violence, surveillance, or mass arrests, it may radicalize a new generation of resistance. If they succeed in holding ground peacefully, it may mark the resurgence of a national movement grounded in visibility and defiance.
Either way, this is not just a march—it is a test. Of power, of will, and of what kind of country this is becoming. Washington, D.C. is not only a geographic location; it is the symbolic heart of American democracy. If peaceful protests in the capital can be stifled under a vague mandate of "beautification," it sets a precedent that ripples outward. Critics argue this beauty is being defined in opposition to presence, protest, and poverty. The message is clear: Public dissent may now be treated as public disorder. That message is not lost on organizers, some of whom now fear their demonstration may be remembered not for its power—but for its suppression.
City leaders are in a bind. Mayor Muriel Bowser has offered cautious criticism of the order, noting that her administration already addresses crime and homelessness through existing programs. But the new federal task force was created without local input, and its presence sharply curtails D.C.'s home rule. Delegate Eleanor Holmes Norton warned that the order strips power from D.C. residents under the guise of national pride. In her statement, she added the order was "thoroughly anti-home rule" and "insulting to the 700,000 D.C. residents who live in close proximity to a federal government, which continues to deny them the same rights afforded to other Americans." Yet legally, city officials may have little recourse. On federal land, the task force's authority is unchecked.
As April 5 approaches, the atmosphere in Washington is one of deep unease. The executive order's timing, scope, and ambiguity suggest that the federal government is not preparing for peaceful civic engagement, but rather girding itself for defiance. If protesters are met not with the protections of the Constitution but with barricades, surveillance, and selective enforcement, then this spring may be remembered not as the moment democracy was defended in the streets—but the moment it was quietly roped off, one barricade at a time.
Trump and Musk are on an unconstitutional rampage, aiming for virtually every corner of the federal government. These two right-wing billionaires are targeting nurses, scientists, teachers, daycare providers, judges, veterans, air traffic controllers, and nuclear safety inspectors. No one is safe. The food stamps program, Social Security, Medicare, and Medicaid are next. It’s an unprecedented disaster and a five-alarm fire, but there will be a reckoning. The people did not vote for this. The American people do not want this dystopian hellscape that hides behind claims of “efficiency.” Still, in reality, it is all a giveaway to corporate interests and the libertarian dreams of far-right oligarchs like Musk. Common Dreams is playing a vital role by reporting day and night on this orgy of corruption and greed, as well as what everyday people can do to organize and fight back. As a people-powered nonprofit news outlet, we cover issues the corporate media never will, but we can only continue with our readers’ support. |
"We've seen encampments cleared, phones tapped, and permits held up—but this? This feels like they're preparing for war," said Marisol Jennings, a D.C.-based organizer who has coordinated protests since 2017.
Just days before thousands of Americans are expected to gather in Washington, D.C. to protest the Trump administration's policies, a sweeping new executive order threatens to transform the nation's capital into a showcase for authoritarian policing.
Signed on March 27, the order—Making the District of Columbia Safe and Beautiful—appears less concerned with beautification than with containment. Its provisions call for surging federal law enforcement, accelerating immigration crackdowns, and strictly enforcing vague "quality-of-life" directives for the city. And its timing, just a week before what organizers are calling the most consequential day of protest since President Donald Trump's return to office, is raising alarm from civil rights lawyers, city officials, and veteran demonstrators.
April 5 could become a barometer for how far Americans are willing to go to resist encroaching authoritarianism—and how far their government is willing to go to stop them.
This aggressive reordering of public space arrives at a politically volatile moment. On April 5, demonstrators from across the country will convene under the banner "Hands Off!"—a coordinated protest against Project 2025, growing executive overreach, and the erosion of democratic norms. But these protests will unfold on ground that has just been legally redefined. The executive order establishes a federal task force with sweeping discretion to enforce federal statutes, remove homeless encampments, and sanitize public areas—rhetoric that critics fear is coded language for suppressing civil dissent. One of the EO's most striking directives calls for expanding the presence of federal law enforcement in Washington, D.C., and increasing enforcement of so-called "quality-of-life" regulations in public spaces, including parks and federal landmarks.
Civil liberties advocates point to the EO's targeting of "unpermitted" demonstrations and disruptive gatherings as a thinly veiled attempt to preempt large-scale mobilization. In a city where the right to protest has long been protected even under strain, the threat of being forcibly removed or detained for a sign, a chant, or an unauthorized step into the street carries profound implications. "You don't need to ban protests if you can criminalize every protester," one ACLU attorney told me. "Public noise ordinances, anti-loitering laws, unauthorized signage—those become the new tools of political suppression."
The fear is not hypothetical. Activists organizing the April 5 protests have already reported increased surveillance and delays in permitting. Groups representing immigrants and unhoused communities are reconsidering participation altogether. The EO directs federal agencies to maximize "enforcement of Federal immigration law" and redirect available "law enforcement resources to apprehend and deport illegal aliens in the Washington, D.C. metropolitan area," a mandate that has already created a chilling effect among undocumented residents, some of whom now fear that attending a peaceful march could result in deportation. In response, the National Homelessness Law Center warned that the order "will worsen homelessness in D.C., violate rights, and waste resources," especially with the federal push to "promptly remove and clean up all homeless encampments."
Then there is the question of firearms. Nestled within the order is a provision directing local entities to expedite and reduce the cost of concealed carry licenses in the District of Columbia. In a city with some of the country's strictest gun laws, this shift could radically alter the atmosphere of a mass protest. Armed counterprotesters, legally carrying under the new directive, may now appear in greater numbers—creating conditions ripe for intimidation or escalation. Police, too, may respond with heightened aggression, assuming the risk of firearms in the crowd. As one security analyst from Georgetown University put it, "You're introducing legal ambiguity and lethal potential into an already volatile situation."
But the risk of physical violence is just one dimension of the broader threat.
For many organizers, the stakes are not just physical—they're existential. "This is a test run," said Rami Kareem, a civil rights attorney affiliated with the Brennan Center for Justice. "What they're doing in D.C. could easily be replicated in Atlanta, Phoenix, or Milwaukee if it succeeds. If people stop showing up out of fear, the right to protest dies quietly, without a single law being passed."
Legal analysts point out that the EO contains intentionally broad language, such as directing agencies to deploy a "more robust Federal law enforcement presence" to ensure "that all applicable quality of life, nuisance, and public-safety laws are strictly enforced." Additionally, the EO mandates "prompt removal and cleanup of all homeless or vagrant encampments and graffiti on Federal land." These directives could grant law enforcement considerable discretion to interpret and potentially suppress protest gatherings, signage, and activities under the guise of enforcing public safety and beautification measures.
Even before the order, Project 2025 had stirred significant public anxiety about the centralization of federal authority and the erosion of institutional norms. But this EO provides an immediate, tangible mechanism to contain dissent—not just in D.C., but in any city with significant federal presence. As national attention turns toward the capital on April 5, many movement leaders see it as a galvanizing moment: either a line is held in defense of civil resistance, or a line is crossed in the normalization of political suppression. "If people stay home out of fear, it tells them this worked. If we show up in mass, it tells them we still have power," Jennings said. "That choice is still ours."
What's at stake goes far beyond the fate of one demonstration. April 5 could become a barometer for how far Americans are willing to go to resist encroaching authoritarianism—and how far their government is willing to go to stop them. If the demonstrators are met with violence, surveillance, or mass arrests, it may radicalize a new generation of resistance. If they succeed in holding ground peacefully, it may mark the resurgence of a national movement grounded in visibility and defiance.
Either way, this is not just a march—it is a test. Of power, of will, and of what kind of country this is becoming. Washington, D.C. is not only a geographic location; it is the symbolic heart of American democracy. If peaceful protests in the capital can be stifled under a vague mandate of "beautification," it sets a precedent that ripples outward. Critics argue this beauty is being defined in opposition to presence, protest, and poverty. The message is clear: Public dissent may now be treated as public disorder. That message is not lost on organizers, some of whom now fear their demonstration may be remembered not for its power—but for its suppression.
City leaders are in a bind. Mayor Muriel Bowser has offered cautious criticism of the order, noting that her administration already addresses crime and homelessness through existing programs. But the new federal task force was created without local input, and its presence sharply curtails D.C.'s home rule. Delegate Eleanor Holmes Norton warned that the order strips power from D.C. residents under the guise of national pride. In her statement, she added the order was "thoroughly anti-home rule" and "insulting to the 700,000 D.C. residents who live in close proximity to a federal government, which continues to deny them the same rights afforded to other Americans." Yet legally, city officials may have little recourse. On federal land, the task force's authority is unchecked.
As April 5 approaches, the atmosphere in Washington is one of deep unease. The executive order's timing, scope, and ambiguity suggest that the federal government is not preparing for peaceful civic engagement, but rather girding itself for defiance. If protesters are met not with the protections of the Constitution but with barricades, surveillance, and selective enforcement, then this spring may be remembered not as the moment democracy was defended in the streets—but the moment it was quietly roped off, one barricade at a time.
"We've seen encampments cleared, phones tapped, and permits held up—but this? This feels like they're preparing for war," said Marisol Jennings, a D.C.-based organizer who has coordinated protests since 2017.
Just days before thousands of Americans are expected to gather in Washington, D.C. to protest the Trump administration's policies, a sweeping new executive order threatens to transform the nation's capital into a showcase for authoritarian policing.
Signed on March 27, the order—Making the District of Columbia Safe and Beautiful—appears less concerned with beautification than with containment. Its provisions call for surging federal law enforcement, accelerating immigration crackdowns, and strictly enforcing vague "quality-of-life" directives for the city. And its timing, just a week before what organizers are calling the most consequential day of protest since President Donald Trump's return to office, is raising alarm from civil rights lawyers, city officials, and veteran demonstrators.
April 5 could become a barometer for how far Americans are willing to go to resist encroaching authoritarianism—and how far their government is willing to go to stop them.
This aggressive reordering of public space arrives at a politically volatile moment. On April 5, demonstrators from across the country will convene under the banner "Hands Off!"—a coordinated protest against Project 2025, growing executive overreach, and the erosion of democratic norms. But these protests will unfold on ground that has just been legally redefined. The executive order establishes a federal task force with sweeping discretion to enforce federal statutes, remove homeless encampments, and sanitize public areas—rhetoric that critics fear is coded language for suppressing civil dissent. One of the EO's most striking directives calls for expanding the presence of federal law enforcement in Washington, D.C., and increasing enforcement of so-called "quality-of-life" regulations in public spaces, including parks and federal landmarks.
Civil liberties advocates point to the EO's targeting of "unpermitted" demonstrations and disruptive gatherings as a thinly veiled attempt to preempt large-scale mobilization. In a city where the right to protest has long been protected even under strain, the threat of being forcibly removed or detained for a sign, a chant, or an unauthorized step into the street carries profound implications. "You don't need to ban protests if you can criminalize every protester," one ACLU attorney told me. "Public noise ordinances, anti-loitering laws, unauthorized signage—those become the new tools of political suppression."
The fear is not hypothetical. Activists organizing the April 5 protests have already reported increased surveillance and delays in permitting. Groups representing immigrants and unhoused communities are reconsidering participation altogether. The EO directs federal agencies to maximize "enforcement of Federal immigration law" and redirect available "law enforcement resources to apprehend and deport illegal aliens in the Washington, D.C. metropolitan area," a mandate that has already created a chilling effect among undocumented residents, some of whom now fear that attending a peaceful march could result in deportation. In response, the National Homelessness Law Center warned that the order "will worsen homelessness in D.C., violate rights, and waste resources," especially with the federal push to "promptly remove and clean up all homeless encampments."
Then there is the question of firearms. Nestled within the order is a provision directing local entities to expedite and reduce the cost of concealed carry licenses in the District of Columbia. In a city with some of the country's strictest gun laws, this shift could radically alter the atmosphere of a mass protest. Armed counterprotesters, legally carrying under the new directive, may now appear in greater numbers—creating conditions ripe for intimidation or escalation. Police, too, may respond with heightened aggression, assuming the risk of firearms in the crowd. As one security analyst from Georgetown University put it, "You're introducing legal ambiguity and lethal potential into an already volatile situation."
But the risk of physical violence is just one dimension of the broader threat.
For many organizers, the stakes are not just physical—they're existential. "This is a test run," said Rami Kareem, a civil rights attorney affiliated with the Brennan Center for Justice. "What they're doing in D.C. could easily be replicated in Atlanta, Phoenix, or Milwaukee if it succeeds. If people stop showing up out of fear, the right to protest dies quietly, without a single law being passed."
Legal analysts point out that the EO contains intentionally broad language, such as directing agencies to deploy a "more robust Federal law enforcement presence" to ensure "that all applicable quality of life, nuisance, and public-safety laws are strictly enforced." Additionally, the EO mandates "prompt removal and cleanup of all homeless or vagrant encampments and graffiti on Federal land." These directives could grant law enforcement considerable discretion to interpret and potentially suppress protest gatherings, signage, and activities under the guise of enforcing public safety and beautification measures.
Even before the order, Project 2025 had stirred significant public anxiety about the centralization of federal authority and the erosion of institutional norms. But this EO provides an immediate, tangible mechanism to contain dissent—not just in D.C., but in any city with significant federal presence. As national attention turns toward the capital on April 5, many movement leaders see it as a galvanizing moment: either a line is held in defense of civil resistance, or a line is crossed in the normalization of political suppression. "If people stay home out of fear, it tells them this worked. If we show up in mass, it tells them we still have power," Jennings said. "That choice is still ours."
What's at stake goes far beyond the fate of one demonstration. April 5 could become a barometer for how far Americans are willing to go to resist encroaching authoritarianism—and how far their government is willing to go to stop them. If the demonstrators are met with violence, surveillance, or mass arrests, it may radicalize a new generation of resistance. If they succeed in holding ground peacefully, it may mark the resurgence of a national movement grounded in visibility and defiance.
Either way, this is not just a march—it is a test. Of power, of will, and of what kind of country this is becoming. Washington, D.C. is not only a geographic location; it is the symbolic heart of American democracy. If peaceful protests in the capital can be stifled under a vague mandate of "beautification," it sets a precedent that ripples outward. Critics argue this beauty is being defined in opposition to presence, protest, and poverty. The message is clear: Public dissent may now be treated as public disorder. That message is not lost on organizers, some of whom now fear their demonstration may be remembered not for its power—but for its suppression.
City leaders are in a bind. Mayor Muriel Bowser has offered cautious criticism of the order, noting that her administration already addresses crime and homelessness through existing programs. But the new federal task force was created without local input, and its presence sharply curtails D.C.'s home rule. Delegate Eleanor Holmes Norton warned that the order strips power from D.C. residents under the guise of national pride. In her statement, she added the order was "thoroughly anti-home rule" and "insulting to the 700,000 D.C. residents who live in close proximity to a federal government, which continues to deny them the same rights afforded to other Americans." Yet legally, city officials may have little recourse. On federal land, the task force's authority is unchecked.
As April 5 approaches, the atmosphere in Washington is one of deep unease. The executive order's timing, scope, and ambiguity suggest that the federal government is not preparing for peaceful civic engagement, but rather girding itself for defiance. If protesters are met not with the protections of the Constitution but with barricades, surveillance, and selective enforcement, then this spring may be remembered not as the moment democracy was defended in the streets—but the moment it was quietly roped off, one barricade at a time.
