Category: protest

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What Radicalized Me Was Kindness

Veteran arrested at capitol protest
The author at the recent veteran anti-war protest in Washington.

A mentor of mine called me the other day and answered the phone with, “Katie’s a radical.”

I laughed and said, “Yeah, I guess I am.”

But after we hung up, I sat there thinking about it, because the truth is: I haven’t changed nearly as much as people think I have. The core of who I am has always been the same. What changed was what I was willing to ignore.

When this mentor first met me, I was angry. Fresh off active duty, deeply conservative, deeply defensive, and carrying around a lot of resentment and unresolved pain. She used to call me her “pistol” because I was willing to say the things others wouldn’t. I didn’t care about rank, titles, status, or political convenience.

Right was right.
Wrong was wrong.
And honestly, I still believe that.

After leaving the military, I got heavily involved in conservative grassroots organizing and veteran advocacy. I trained with Americans for Prosperity, worked in Republican spaces, and poured myself into causes I believed in. I genuinely believed the Republican Party stood for individual liberty, personal responsibility, strong communities, limited government, and defending constitutional rights.

Then I started working directly with homeless veterans.
And that work changed me.
Not because someone “brainwashed” me.
Not because I suddenly became weak.
But because advocacy forced me to stop arguing in theory and start looking at outcomes.

I started paying attention to policy instead of slogans.

I noticed Republicans often spoke passionately about supporting troops, but Democrats were frequently the ones funding veteran programs and expanding services. I started researching legislation. Watching votes. Following bills. Looking at what actually happened after the speeches ended.

And once you start asking hard questions, you can’t unsee the answers.

At the same time, I was navigating political spaces as an openly gay conservative woman. For a while, that identity made me useful. I was the veteran. The lesbian Republican. The proof that the party was “inclusive.”

Until I wasn’t useful anymore.

Someone said something to me recently that hit me hard:
“Even the tokens get spent eventually.”

That was exactly what happened.

I started realizing many of the people I stood beside politically did not actually respect people like me. They tolerated us when it was convenient. They showcased us when it benefited them. But underneath it all was growing hostility toward LGBTQ people, women, minorities, and anyone who challenged the hierarchy they were comfortable protecting.

Then 2020 happened.
And honestly, that was the breaking point.

Two names changed the trajectory of my life forever:
George Floyd and Vanessa Guillén.

When George Floyd was murdered, I watched people I knew, people in my own political circles, people I had organized beside, immediately jump to defending the system instead of confronting the humanity of what happened. The cruelty of the rhetoric shocked me. The lack of empathy shocked me. The immediate instinct to dehumanize instead of reflect broke something in me.

Enough was enough.

And then came Vanessa Guillén.
As a veteran, that hit especially hard.

I started lobbying aggressively for stronger protections against sexual assault and harassment in the military. I was calling legislators, pushing policy, trying to get people to care about service members being abused inside the institution they swore to serve.

And I will never forget the responses I got from Republican offices.
Over and over again, I was told:

“That’s not really in our wheelhouse.”
Not our wheelhouse.
Sexual assault in the military.
Women being harmed inside the ranks.
Service members being failed by the system.
Not their wheelhouse.

That was the moment I knew I couldn’t keep pretending this was still the party I believed in.

Because at some point, politics stops being theoretical. It stops being about slogans, campaign ads, or partisan loyalty. It becomes about what you are willing to tolerate happening to other human beings.

And I realized I couldn’t tolerate it anymore.

Over time, I watched the Republican Party become increasingly driven by outrage, grievance, fear, and cruelty instead of conservative principles.

Not fiscal responsibility.
Not liberty.
Not limited government.
Just anger.

You can call me a libtard.
You can call me Antifa.
You can call me whatever makes you feel better.
What I call myself is a decent human being.

Someone who believes children should be safe.
Women should have rights.
Veterans should be cared for after war instead of abandoned while the VA gets gutted.
People who work full-time should be able to afford to live.

And if that’s considered “radical” now, then maybe we need to ask ourselves what the hell happened to normal.

Because kindness should not be controversial.
Human decency should not be political.
Empathy should not be treated like weakness.

If you had asked me 13 years ago whether I’d be organizing large-scale No Kings actions against the government, I would’ve laughed in your face. Especially under a Republican administration. That was never on my bingo card.

Neither was organizing veterans “just in case things get weird.”

I already helped build one veteran movement in my lifetime. I never imagined we’d be here again. But here we are.

And what breaks my heart the most is watching people scream hateful things one minute and quote scripture the next. Watching people talk about God while cheering cruelty, mocking vulnerable people, and treating basic human rights like some kind of political inconvenience.

What are we doing?
Seriously. What are we doing?

And to my Republican friends, because I know some of you quietly read my posts and DM me instead of commenting publicly, talk to me. Get outside the bubble for five minutes.

Everyone assumes I’ve been “brainwashed by CNN” or MSNBC. I don’t even watch cable news. I’m not obsessed with culture war nonsense. I watch policy.

I literally track legislation alerts on my phone. I monitor what gets introduced in Congress. I pay attention to how policies affect veterans, working families, women, LGBTQ people, and marginalized communities at the local, state, and federal level.

That’s what changed me: paying attention.
Not propaganda.
Not social media.
Not some sudden personality shift.
Reality.

I took my oath to the Constitution seriously. My family took it seriously. A lot of us did.

People died for that oath. Others came home carrying things they could never escape because of that oath.

And now I watch people shrug while democratic norms, constitutional protections, and fundamental rights are openly challenged, and I genuinely do not understand the indifference.

You don’t have to become a Democrat to see what’s happening.
You don’t have to abandon conservatism.

But at some point, we have to ask ourselves what exactly is being “conserved.”

Because from where I’m standing, it no longer looks like freedom, liberty, or constitutional values.

It looks like fear.
It looks like exclusion.

It looks like protecting power for a very specific kind of person while everyone else is told to stay quiet and be grateful.

And that should alarm every single one of us.

I never imagined I would spend part of my life organizing against my own party. I never imagined I’d be leading No Kings protests or helping organize veterans in resistance movements.

That was not the plan for my life.
But life has a way of forcing you to choose between comfort and conscience.
And I chose conscience.

So maybe my mentor was right. Maybe I am a radical.
But what radicalized me was not hate.
It was proximity to suffering.
It was working with veterans.
It was listening to marginalized people instead of talking over them.
It was seeing how policy affects real human beings.
It was realizing that equality and justice are not weaknesses.

What radicalized me was kindness.

And if kindness, dignity, accountability, and justice for all people are considered radical now, then maybe the real problem isn’t me.

_________

Katie Chorbak is the President of 50501 Veterans, a Jacksonville native, Bishop Kenny graduate and a retired U.S. Army Staff Sergeant (74 D). A fifth-generation combat veteran, she now works in the construction industry, with projects including Ribault High School. For over a decade, she has led veteran advocacy efforts, helping drive a 2021 federal policy change protecting sexual assault survivors in the military. Katie has received multiple awards for her work, most proudly being named a Woman Veteran Trailblazer by the U.S. Department of Veterans Affairs

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The Beans Don’t Lie, But Aaron Bean Does

EDITOR’S NOTE: This content is courtesy of our friends at United Nassau Florida. Aaron Bean is a sitting US Conggressman representing Florida District 4, which includes parts nof Nassau and Duval counties, inclduing the neighborhoods of Riverside, Avondale, and Murray Hill.

This video isn’t something we want to subject you to, but it’s eye-opening. Sometimes you have to hear it straight from the horse’s mouth for the impact to sink in. We apologize for the unpleasant content, but we believe it’s important.

Congressman Bean loves to talk about “protecting police dogs.”  He praises his K-9 Protection Act as if it were the height of compassion, yet says nothing about the people brutalized by the same agencies those dogs serve. While ICE and Border Patrol have slammed unarmed civilians to the pavement and terrorized families, Bean’s outrage begins and ends with the animals.

We value every life, human and canine, but compassion that ignores human suffering isn’t compassion at all.

Behind that grin lies something darker a steady stream of lies, hypocrisy, and cruelty wrapped in charm.

The man who claims to “stand with working families” voted for a so-called “Clean Continuing Resolution”, a bill that would have allowed subsidies to expire for the Affordable Care Act (Obama Care) and block Medicaid extensions.

Had that bill passed in the Senate, Marketplace healthcare premiums would have skyrocketed, and health coverage would have been stripped from millions of Americans, leaving families across Florida facing impossible medical bills or no care at all.

He calls it “fiscal responsibility”

We call it what it is: an attack on the health and dignity of the people he’s sworn to represent.

When Bean talks about compassion, he means “damage control.”

He wrote letters asking utility companies to show “mercy” to federal workers, the same workers losing paychecks because he voted for a budget bill that slashed ACA subsidies, fueling the shutdown standoff in the Senate.

He calls it “compassion”

We call it what it is: Theater.

He grins beside dialysis patients and seniors in nursing homes while voting for the Republican “One Big Beautiful Bill Act”, legislation that threatens or eliminates the very programs those people rely on.

He calls it “fiscal discipline.”

We call it: Cruelty disguised as compassion.

Aaron Bean doesn’t stand with working families. He stands in front of them, for the photo op.

Bean is now proudly promoting his “LEO K-9 Protection Act,” calling police dogs “precious animals” who deserve “safe haven.”

But where is his compassion for people?

For the migrants and protesters slammed to the ground by ICE officers, for the people thrown into ravines and detention cages, for the workers who are unable to feed their families because of his votes.

He weeps for wounded dogs while ignoring human beings brutalized by the same agencies he glorifies.

Bean cries for K-9s while turning his head away from people

We call it: Selective empathy, the cruelty of moral convenience.

Now, he’s trying to sell the lie of a “Senate-led shutdown.”

Here’s the truth:

  • The shutdown began in the House, when MAGA Republicans refused to pass bipartisan funding that the Senate had already approved.
  • He claims Democrats “voted to keep the government closed.”
  • What he doesn’t say is that those bills were loaded with MAGA poison pills, deep cuts to healthcare, disaster relief, and environmental protections.

He created the crisis and now blames others for the pain.

It’s the oldest political trick in the book: “cause the fire, then pose with the hose.”

Bean’s job isn’t governing, it’s performing.

He loves ribbon cuttings and happy talk about “Florida sunshine.” Meanwhile, Florida families face rising prices, shrinking safety nets, and lost paychecks.

When the lights go off and the cameras turn away, his compassion disappears right along with them.

Aaron Bean doesn’t understand the No Kings movement because he doesn’t understand democracy.

He calls peaceful citizens “unruly.”

He praises power and mocks dissent.

And he serves a movement that would rather rule than represent.
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What Comes After Protesting

–by Katie Chorbak

I think it’s time we have a real, serious conversation about what happens after protesting–about what comes next. Too often, people say things like, “Oh, you’re just throwing a block party,” or “These protests don’t do anything.” But that misses the point entirely.

Protests do matter. They are a form of recruitment. They are how people first recognize that there’s a problem and realize they’re not alone. Mass demonstrations create safety in numbers, which helps those with anxiety or fear for their safety show up. Once they do, they meet organizations that share their values, and that’s how involvement begins. Coalitions form locally, statewide, regionally, and nationally among all kinds of groups, including veterans.

After Protesting: Building Power That Lasts

After protesting, the next steps are mass demonstrations, boycotts, and strikes. But here’s the thing: we can’t realistically boycott or strike unless we have a way to support people through it. We can’t call for economic disruption if we don’t have alternative material sources for the goods and services we are boycotting.

If we ever reach the point of a general strike, we will have to be self-sustaining, feeding ourselves, housing ourselves, and supporting one another. Every major movement throughout history that truly worked and sustained itself had one thing in common: a foundation of community defense and mutual support. That’s food for thought.

Learning from History

Every strong movement in history has had its dual sides, a Martin and a Malcolm. Anyone who ignores that isn’t recognizing history for what it really is. You need both. The larger movement depends on both nonviolence and defense. We don’t perpetrate violence; we defend against it.

Some people think community defense means violence or anarchy, but it’s not that at all. It’s about building resilience, taking care of one another, and being ready when systems fail. It’s going back to how early America once functioned, when people bartered, helped one another, and survived together.

What Community Defense Really Means

Community defense isn’t aggression; it’s preparation. It’s making sure your community can stand together when it matters most. It means that if your neighbor is taken, you know who to call. It means helping them get a lawyer, checking on the elderly down the road to make sure they have groceries and companionship. That’s community defense.

And here’s something that confuses me: we say “ACAB” all day, but we haven’t built viable alternatives for community safety. We call out the system’s failures, but we’re not prepared to take over those responsibilities ourselves. Radical mutual aid means that if the system fails, we can still feed, clothe, and protect our own.

Building Local Resilience

Take where I live, Florida. Disaster preparedness here isn’t great. If a massive hurricane hits and the federal government fails us, it’s on us to pick up the pieces, rebuild, and make sure no one is left hungry, cold, or without shelter. That’s community defense in action, creating local systems that can handle those crises at the neighborhood level and then scale outward.

You start small, your block, your area, your town. Like in Jacksonville: Mandarin, Riverside, the Beaches. Each of those communities connects to the next, and together they can respond to larger problems. If a hurricane hits, we figure out which side of town was hit hardest, and we move. We allocate resources and get people what they need. That’s organized community resilience.

Facing Reality

Too many people still believe the midterms or the next election will fix things. I wish that were true, but even if elections happen, and who says they will, they won’t change the trajectory we’re on. The Constitution promises elections, freedom of the press, accountability, yet the Department of Defense removed the entire press corps and prohibited military members from talking to Congress. That’s a violation of U.S. law.

So if you still think everything will go back to normal, I’m glad you have hope. But I’m preparing for the worst, and I hope my preparation turns out to be unnecessary. That’s not paranoia. That’s realism. It’s experience. It’s being a veteran and having been trained to survive.

Values and Call to Action

I was taught from a young age that we take care of our own. If you know me, you know that loyalty means a lot to me, not blind loyalty, but loyalty rooted in values. The Army values — loyalty, duty, respect, selfless service, honor, integrity, and personal courage — are how I try to live. I fall short, because I’m human, but I keep trying.

So no, I’m not an alarmist. I’m a realist. And even if we never need these systems, at least they’ll exist if we do. That’s the point.

Right now, we’re underprepared as veterans, as neighbors, and as communities. It’s time to organize, prepare, and move forward. It’s time to build the networks and systems that can protect and sustain us when the institutions we’ve relied on fail.

Because the truth is simple: no one is coming to save us. We keep us safe.

And One Last Thing

Given the new executive order about the “ideology of anti-fascism” and “American values,” I’m sure this post, and probably a few others, have put me on a watchlist. And that’s fine.

I’m not anti-American. I love this country. And that’s exactly why I’m getting prepared to rebuild it after it falls.

———-
Katie Chorbak is the President of 50501 Veterans, a Jacksonville native, Bishop Kenny graduate and a retired U.S. Army Staff Sergeant (74 D). A fifth-generation combat veteran, she now works in the construction industry, with projects including Ribault High School. For over a decade, she has led veteran advocacy efforts, helping drive a 2021 federal policy change protecting sexual assault survivors in the military. Katie has received multiple awards for her work, most proudly being named a Woman Veteran Trailblazer by the U.S. Department of Veterans Affairs.