They Don't Want Witnesses

Episode 45 — They Don’t Want Witnesses

In this episode of Human Politics, Christi Chanelle explores what happens when watching becomes a threat.

From protest songs that warned us decades ago to the present-day arrests of journalists, legal observers, and protesters, this episode examines how power reacts when it’s being seen. Art has always told the truth first. Music has always carried movements forward. And now, cameras, phones, and witnesses are being treated like crimes.

Christi connects history, culture, and current events to her own lived experience—building community in a moment where fear is meant to isolate us. When power loses control of the narrative, it doesn’t debate. It intimidates.

This episode is about art as warning, community as protection, and why witnessing still matters—especially when they don’t want you doing it.

⚠️ DISCLAIMER

Disclaimer:
This episode contains political commentary and opinion-based analysis intended for educational, journalistic, and advocacy purposes. References to public figures, policies, protest activity, and historical events are discussed within a broader cultural and historical context. Visuals may include symbolic or illustrative representations. Viewers and listeners are encouraged to engage critically and seek multiple sources. This content does not encourage illegal activity.

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Transcript

A Song For Minneapolis

SPEAKER_00 0:00

Now they say they're here to uphold the law, but they trample on your rights. If your skin is black or brown, my friend, you can be questioned or deported on site. In chance of ice out now, our city's heart and soul persists. Through broken glass and bloodied tears on the streets of Minneapolis. Oh, our Minneapolis, I hear your voice singing through the bloody mist. Here in our home, they killed and roamed in the winter of 26. We'll take our stand for this land and the stranger in our midst. We'll remember the names of those who died on the streets of Minneapolis. We'll remember the names of those who died on the streets of Minneapolis. I'm Christy Chanel, and this is Sassy Politics. Welcome to Human Politics. I know I have been out for about three weeks. I wish I could say I was in Hawaii getting some R, but I have been working both day and night during the day, of course, at my adult daytime job, and at night uh building my community. Um I think it's so important to have that, and we will be getting into it later on in the show, but for now, I want to talk about a little bit of art. Because art always gets there first, right? Art doesn't wait for permission. It doesn't wait for the consensus of the group, it doesn't wait for courts to catch up. Art shows up when something is wrong, when people feel it in their bodies before they can, you know, name it out loud. That's why every major movement in history has a soundtrack. The civil rights movement had We Shall Overcome. The anti-war movement had folk songs that refused to let the silence do the government's work. The women's movement had voices that said very clearly, you do not own me. Music isn't decoration, it's documentation. And that's why when Bruce Springsteen writes a song about Minneapolis right now, we should be paying attention. Because he's not predicting history, he's recording it. Do you get that? He's recording history. We're living what our history books wrote about. It's our turn to go through this. It's our turn to make a difference. There's a reason we still talk about Ohio. Four students shot by the National Guard at Kent State. And within days, the song existed. Four dead in Ohio. That's it. No metaphor, no softening. That song froze a moment in time so it could never be rewritten. And that's what protest music does. It refuses erasure. We saw it in the civil rights movement. We saw it in Vietnam. We saw it when women were fighting for bodily autonomy and for the right to work, to vote, to leave, to exist as a human being. Every time power tries to sanitize violence, art drags it back into the light. That's not nostalgia, that's pattern recognition. We're living in a moment where something happens every single day. Every day. And sometimes I wake up and I think, am I overreacting? And then I check the news. And then I don't think that anymore. It's it's in our faces. Journalists are being arrested. Protesters are being criminalized. Witnesses are being treated like threats. Which brings me to Don Lemon. 30 years in journalism. If you're gonna make an example of someone, you don't start small, you start visible. And yes, he will be fine. He has money, he has lawyers, he'll probably make a lot of money off of this moment. And I'm glad. But smaller journalists won't. Independent creators won't. Protesters without resources won't. And that is the point. This isn't about one person, it's about intimidating the act of witnessing. I live in Texas. I don't know my neighbors. And I don't know if the person next door thinks ICE is protecting America and then I'm a problem. Because the word liberal doesn't mean what it used to anymore. It's not a political identity anymore. It's a warning label. It now just means you disagree with Trump. And you know what? I own that. And I own it. Gladly. Because if that's the line, I know exactly where I want to stand. Right? Last year I had a dream. I woke up repeating one word. Actually, two words. The chain. The chain. The chain. I didn't know what it meant. So I got up, had my coffee, and then saw the news. And Abbott was giving the police force carte blanche. Do what you want to those protesters. If they if you feel that they're a threat, go for it. Like, do it, you know? Freaked me the hell out. And I have to be honest, I was freaked the hell out. And I had just had that dream. So I realized that is probably a sign for me to take action. So I did. I started seeing police authority grow, immunity floated, normalized, justified, and I was scared. I had never been to a protest. Now I can proudly say I've been to four. Now I pack goggles, I pack spray, I know exit routes, I have extra battery packs, I bring water, I write a phone number on my arm. And no, it's not because I'm brave. It's because the environment has changed. Fear can paralyze you, or it can organize you. So I built something. It's definitely not perfect, and it wasn't overnight. I tried before and it failed. 200 people said they wanted to help. 200 people said they wanted to help. And then they just disappeared. And after trying repetitively to get their attention, I gave up. I realized I guess I can't lead a movement here because nobody's paying attention. And I was sad by it. I was upset by it. And like, how can you not get involved? I I didn't understand it. So I was like, okay, maybe maybe my involvement needs to be my microphone. Maybe that's where I'm supposed to be. And then this moment came. And everything I had quietly built was suddenly ready. And then I did a post. And it was just a random post. I just had a lot of energy that day. And I was like, is somebody here in Texas that can guide me? Because clearly nobody's taking the lead. And that post exploded. It exploded. And ironically, none of my posts were exploding because algorithm doesn't like me, especially on TikTok. So the fact that that one exploded was validation. It was absolute validation. So I started again. This time in my own backyard. And that's how Linked We Stand was born. It's not an activist group, it's a community. Has states and cities and people who feel the same fear and don't want to be alone. Artists, researchers, organizers, spiritual folks. Yes, even a coven. Because honestly, we'll take all the protection that we can get, right? I haven't recorded in three weeks, and I owe you that honesty. I do everything myself, as you already know. But there's a clock ticking. I know you can feel it. I can feel it. Preparation is not panic, it's care. We are going to be okay. But not everyone will be untouched. We build systems so smaller journalists don't stand alone. This is how movements survive. And I want to end with a woman's voice. Because women have always carried movements quietly until history catches up. So I'll leave you with this from Leslie Gore. You don't own me. That line carried generations of women forward. And it still does. We don't belong to fear. We don't belong to silence. We don't belong to authoritarianism. We belong to each other. And we remember the names. Link by link, linked we stand. We are the chain. Get involved.