On Saturday, April 5, a powerful wave of community action swept through Joshua Tree as around 400 residents gathered at the intersection of Highway 62 and Park Boulevard. The peaceful protest, set against a backdrop of blue skies and spring wind, reflected growing concern over cuts to essential services, erosion of rights, and threats to democracy.
The protest, organized by Morongo Basin Resistance and supported by Indivisible Morongo Basin 2025, brought together people of all ages. There were toddlers to retirees, some with wheelchairs, handmade signs, and heartfelt stories.
According to a statement on the Indivisible website, “This mass mobilization day is a message to the world that we do not consent to the destruction of our government and our economy for the benefit of Trump and his billionaire allies.
Alongside Americans across the country, we are marching, rallying, and protesting to demand a stop to the chaos and to build an opposition movement against the looting of our country.”
There was no single issue at the Joshua Tree Protest. Dozens of protesters spoke out against cuts to Social Security, Medicare, Pell Grants, and veterans’ benefits. They also called attention to deportations, environmental rollbacks, LGBTQ+ rights, women’s rights, layoffs, and protecting public lands.
“We’ve seen this before,” said Sarah. “It looks like history repeating. We have to pay attention and stand up.”
Chris Clarke, a longtime desert journalist and environmental advocate, shared that his nonprofit—the Desert Advocacy Media Network—recently lost a $50,000 grant due to sudden federal funding cuts.
Kim Stringfellow, a Guggenheim Fellow and creator of The Mojave Project, underscored the broader impact on public art and civic education.
“California Humanities receives money from the National Endowment for the Humanities, and this week, they canceled all grants—even grants a bipartisan Congress has already allocated.”
Stringfellow’s projects have long explored the California desert’s social, environmental, and historical narratives. Like many others at the protest, she expressed frustration and urgency—not just for her work but also for what she sees as a growing dismantling of civic and cultural infrastructure.
Others shared personal experiences of financial insecurity, immigration battles, and fears for the next generation.
“I want my daughters to have a future,” said one mother. “I want them to vote, to live in a country where their voices matter.”
Janice, a resident recovering from cataract surgery, came with a sign that read “Love Your Neighbor.” She had considered staying home—but the urgency of this moment won out.
Organizers estimate around 400 people participated throughout the day, with a near-constant flow of passing vehicles offering supportive honks and cheers. I did not see a counter-protest, but there might have been a couple of other voices.
The Organizer of the Morongo Basin Resistance said, “I’m just really proud of our community and what they’ve come together to do, And that’s the bigger issue. This isn’t me doing this. This is us coming together.”
Cherry said the protest began with a small online poll—but the overwhelming turnout showed people were ready to act. “People really wanted to come out for this.”
For future protests and to stay informed, Cherry encouraged attendees to connect through Morongo Basin Resistance on social media platforms. She emphasized that building resilience—helping each other feel safe, housed, and supported—is the key to long-term collective action.
“I’d like to help us get connected and start making sure that everyone’s fed, watered, and sheltered. So that way more of us can take resistant action without fear of retribution.”
The protest wasn’t just a gathering—it was a promise from a small community with a significant voice.
