Where the Quiet Power Lives
Honoring Bayard Rustin and the Strategy of Visibility in the Face of Silence
“We need in every community a group of angelic troublemakers.”
– Bayard Rustin
Good morning, dear hearts—
Wherever you are reading from today, know this: you are needed. You are seen. And what you hold inside—your clarity, your conscience, your care—those are all weapons the regime cannot disarm. Not without your permission.
As Pride marches forward this month, the shadows lengthen in Los Angeles. Aggression. Retaliation. Surveillance. The regime's hand trembles with overreach—and reveals its fear.
Let’s name it plainly: they are afraid of what we know how to do.
They are afraid of our joy, our gatherings, our planning.
So what shall we do?
We shall be bold. But not rash.
We shall be fierce. But not frenzied.
We shall be everywhere, because we have already been everywhere.
And to remind us how, we return to a man who knew exactly what it meant to be both peaceful and powerful.
The Man Behind the Movement
Bayard Rustin was many things—a tactician, a teacher, a singer, a Quaker, a pacifist, and a proud gay Black man.
But above all, Bayard Rustin was a builder. Not of monuments or slogans, but of strategy. Of movements that could bend the arc of history.
Born in 1912 in West Chester, Pennsylvania, Rustin was raised by grandparents who instilled in him a belief in dignity—both his own and that of every human being. It was this belief that carried him from student protests to union organizing, to the trenches of the civil rights movement long before it had a name. Rustin saw early that injustice could not be negotiated with, only dismantled—and that such dismantling required both love and design.
Before there was Martin’s dream, there was Rustin’s blueprint.
In the 1940s, he was already putting his body on the line. He was arrested for refusing to serve in World War II, jailed for anti-segregation bus rides before Rosa Parks ever refused her seat, and endured brutal attacks for being openly gay in a world that demanded silence. Yet Rustin would not retreat into shame or safety.
He lived out loud—knowing that doing so made him a target.
Because Rustin understood something few dared admit:
His visibility wasn’t just a personal truth.
It was a protective shield.
By being known—publicly, unavoidably known—he made space for others to be protected.
He was often the first to be criticized, the easiest to single out, the most vulnerable to political attacks. Leaders who relied on his brilliance would later discard him to appease respectability or white mainstream appeal. But Rustin bore these betrayals not with bitterness, but with clarity. His dignity was not dependent on their comfort.
He chose to carry the weight of visibility so others could march with a little more safety.
He absorbed their fear so they could move forward in faith.
When the civil rights movement needed discipline and direction, it was Rustin who laid the ground. When protesters arrived in Washington in 1963, they found food, medical support, bathroom access, emergency plans, order—because Rustin had made it so. The March on Washington was not simply a dream, it was a logistical masterpiece of safety and precision, designed by a man who had long been denied the spotlight.
And still, he gave the stage away freely.
Even in his final years—decades after the March on Washington—Rustin continued to defy erasure. In the 1980s, he became a vocal advocate for gay rights and a leading voice in the fight against apartheid in South Africa. He joined protests, spoke at international forums, and refused to allow aging or marginalization to still his voice. Where others faded, Rustin remained—his life an embodiment of one relentless truth: There is no freedom for some unless there is freedom for all.
The Lesson He Left
Bayard Rustin's legacy is not just one of protest—but of protection.
Not just of movement—but of method.
He reminds us that the best rebellions are rehearsed. That justice demands choreography as much as courage. That love must be disciplined if it is to endure.
And perhaps most profoundly, he reminds us that leadership is not about being seen first—it is about ensuring others can be seen at all.
He did not wait to be welcomed before speaking.
He did not wait to be accepted before protecting others.
He did not wait to be safe before making safety possible for everyone else.
His story is a study in sacrifice—the kind that chooses community over comfort, truth over convenience.
Today, when we feel the rush to react, Rustin whispers:
Prepare. Train. Organize. Know your enemy, but love your people more.
A Strategy for the Living
And now, dear reader, we return to today—our day, our fight.
Los Angeles is under siege.
Not by tanks or drones, but by silence. By intimidation. By brutality masked as order.
And yet, in that overreach, they have exposed themselves. The regime has tipped its hand.
They have concentrated their efforts.
They have drained their coffers.
They have revealed a fear not of violence—but of visibility.
And that is where we must now move, like water around a stone.
To those in LA: stay safe. Resist peacefully, and in numbers. Let your stillness shake the ground beneath them.
To those not in LA: be louder. Be brighter. Be bolder.
This is your time.
If they silence one city, we will sing from ten more.
If they dim one march, we will light a hundred candles.
If they tighten their grip, we will slip through every finger.
Visibility becomes resistance when repression sharpens.
They cannot lay siege to every town, every truth, every soul that carries Pride in their chest.
Let them try to outspend hope. Let them attempt to crush a history that has never stayed silent.
Bayard Rustin showed us the way: calculated, courageous, communal.
They cannot silence us all—especially not if we plan, as he did, for the power of many.
And so, dear reader, as the pressure mounts and Pride marches forward, remember Rustin. Remember the beauty of ordered resistance. The power of calm conviction. The glory of refusing to be erased.
Draw your lines.
Sharpen your minds.
And walk, when you can, in numbers that echo across the marble halls of power.
Let no one convince you that to be peaceful is to be passive.
As Bayard Rustin taught us:
“When an individual is protesting society’s refusal to acknowledge his dignity as a human being, his very act of protest confers dignity on him.”
Until our next bold move,
~ Lady LiberTea ✨🫖
📢 Answer the Call: Become Your Community’s Angelic Troublemaker
“The proof that one truly believes is in action.” — Bayard Rustin
If this tribute to Rustin moved you, let your belief be more than words—let it be action.
✨ Read & Share the full tribute here → Where the Quiet Power Lives
🛡️ Amplify safety in LA
Support those on the ground with resources and training to sustain peaceful protest:
Donate to the Los Angeles LGBT Center’s “Look What Love Can Do” fund, safeguarding queer protest, health, and community care →
Volunteer or donate to ProjectQ, a grassroots sanctuary for LGBTQIA+ youth facing crisis in LA →
Connect with Indigenous Pride LA or TransLatina Coalition, both pioneering intersectional visibility and mobilization in LA →
🌍 Plant resistance where you are
Start a local Pride book club, mutual-aid group, or “angelic troublemaker” collective—no permit needed, only planning and heart. Need some ideas? Check out Vote Save America’s Book club list and questions. Want to stay LGBTQ themed, Check out The Little Gay Book Club on Instagram for some amazing reads, questions and content to get you started.
Start a PFLAG chapter in your town—whether rural or urban, this intergenerational network is a lifeline for LGBTQ+ youth and families. Get started here →
Form a safe gathering point in your home, place of worship, or library where voices can be heard, needs met, and peace preserved. You don’t need permission to build community—only courage.
📚 Invite courage into conversation
Host a discussion circle or civic-action planning meet-up, patterned after Rustin’s method: educate, strategize, organize.
This is how we multiply resistance.
They cannot overwhelm all of us—only the visible.
When one city is under fire, we rise tenfold elsewhere.
Let your conviction be choreography: swift, safe, strategic.
Your actions today light the future tomorrow.
Until our next bold move,
Lady LiberTea ✨🫖