A three-part series on the round-the-clock anti-Trump encampment at Union Station — its founding, its crackdown, and its resurrection.
FLARE 24/7: A Protest in the Heart of the Capital
By Dave Price
On the first day of May 2025, under a pale spring sun and amid the chaotic bustle of Union Station in Washington, D.C., a small group of activists set down tents, rolled out sleeping bags, and raised signs bearing bold messages like:
“IMPEACH TRUMP.”
“FREAK FASCISM.”
“FOR LIBERATION AND RESISTANCE EVERYWHERE.”
They called themselves FLARE USA — an acronym that stood for For Liberation And Resistance Everywhere. But it was more than a name. It was a mission, a mood, and a movement — one aimed squarely at confronting what they viewed as an accelerating authoritarian slide under Donald Trump’s unprecedented return to power.
This was not a one-day protest. This was not a pop-up rally.
This was a 24-hour-a-day encampment. A permanent vigil. A nonviolent intervention.
And it would not be leaving anytime soon.
🎪 A Tent City for the Constitution
Columbus Circle, the plaza in front of Union Station, has long been a crossroads — for travelers, commuters, tourists, and occasionally, protest movements. But what unfolded on May 1, 2025, was different.
FLARE organizers had secured a First Amendment demonstration permit through the National Park Service (NPS), granting them the legal right to assemble, set up a tented base, and conduct continuous public demonstrations in the public parkland adjacent to the historic train station. With that paperwork in hand, they erected a community of resistance in plain sight — just blocks from the Capitol and the Supreme Court.
Within hours, the plaza began to take on the feel of a miniature political village:
Canvas tents bore hand-painted protest art.
Folding tables held pamphlets, sign-making supplies, and literature.
A makeshift stage was set up for speeches, musical performances, and impromptu mic sessions.
Lights, water jugs, and power cords snaked across the bricks.
The vibe? Somewhere between Zuccotti Park and Woodstock — with a strong streak of civic urgency.
The founding message was simple but fierce:
“We are here to demand justice. We are here to call for the impeachment and removal of Donald J. Trump. We are here to not go away.”
🕯️ Vigil Meets Resistance
In an era of hashtags and news cycles that expire within hours, FLARE 24/7 stood apart for its constancy.
They didn’t leave when the sun set.
They didn’t pack up when it rained.
They didn’t disperse when the tourists snapped photos and walked away.
They stayed.
Through hot nights and morning commuters.
Through arguments with hecklers.
Through weeks of indifference.
Through months of mounting tension.
“We have a right to express ourselves legally and peacefully,” one organizer told WTOP in July. “And that is what we’re doing here.”
That dual insistence on legality and peacefulness became part of FLARE’s moral armor. They invoked the First Amendment daily. They posted signs about nonviolence. They documented every interaction with authorities. They livestreamed their daily check-ins, volunteer rotations, and evening candlelight vigils.
By summer, FLARE had joined forces with other anti-Trump and anti-authoritarian groups, forming a loose coalition under the banner of “Remove 45 Again.” They expanded their programming: teach-ins, movie nights, guest speakers, community art projects, spiritual reflection circles, even public readings of the Constitution and the Mueller Report.
They also drew criticism.
Passersby — especially Trump supporters — sometimes hurled insults. One group of TikTokers filmed themselves mocking the encampment. On other occasions, right-wing agitators tried to provoke confrontations. But FLARE organizers trained their volunteers in de-escalation and repeatedly insisted they would not give authorities any excuse to intervene.
“This is about holding space,” one core volunteer said. “It’s not about confrontation. It’s about presence.”
🗓️ The Long Summer of Dissent
As the days turned to weeks and the weeks to months, FLARE 24/7 became a fixture at Union Station.
Tour guides mentioned them. Taxi drivers pointed them out. Local workers stopped by to donate food, blankets, or bottled water. Some nearby office employees even took their lunch breaks beside the protest circle, chatting with volunteers.
Their social media accounts — especially on Instagram and TikTok — began to grow. They posted daily video diaries, infographics about authoritarianism, and updates on impeachment-related actions across the country. They also promoted their fundraising links, raising enough money to buy solar lights, art supplies, and legal assistance.
Yet as their visibility rose, so did scrutiny.
Whispers circulated about increased attention from federal authorities.
Tensions flared over the extension cords running from their sound system.
Rumors of a permit review — or possible revocation — crept in by September.
Still, FLARE remained. And with the arrival of autumn, they prepared for the long haul: stocking up on winter gear, reinforcing tents, planning Thanksgiving solidarity meals, and organizing teach-ins on nonviolent resistance.
“We’re not going anywhere,” said Jacob Adams, the named permit-holder. “We’ll be here until we’re heard.”
It would be less than a week before everything collapsed — suddenly, violently, and without warning.
But that’s the story of Part Two.
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