Presence as power marks massive pedaling protest against Trump

On Sunday, thousands of Portlanders showed they are unafraid by making themselves as vulnerable as possible. Many of them fully or partially naked, and all of them astride bicycles, they gathered across the street from the Oregon Convention Center to show an increasingly aggressive Trump regime that Portland will not cower, and that real power comes from community.

“Even in the worst of times, we can still have a good time and laugh,” said one person I spoke to as the plaza filled in anticipation of speakers and the start of the ride. “At some point I hope enough people will see that we can stop this dictator if we all come together. Coming together makes you feel better about where we’re at and that you’re not alone, and that we can do together, what none of us could do alone.”

“We’re not here to, you know, tear down buildings and burn the city down,” another person in the crowd shared with me. “We’re here to have a good time and do things our own way. And if that means getting naked and riding around the city in the rain, then hell yeah, let’s do it!”

The crowd was having fun. The mood was light. People passed out clear ponchos. There were jugglers and a troop of “clowns against fascism.” When bagpipes blared, everyone cheered the arrival of Portland’s Unipiper. The forecast called for temperatures in the mid 50s and rain, so I was surprised at how much skin I saw. There was so much pent-up demand for a mass protest bike ride, and nothing was going to stop people from making a statement.

The ride was organized by NakedHearts:PDX, an ad hoc group of ride leaders that have hosted thousands of rides over the years, including a more protest-oriented version of the World Naked Bike Ride that emerged after leaders of the original version took a year off in 2024. Their leader, Moorland Moss (below), greeted the crowd with basics about safety and set the tone for the ride, before introducing the first speaker.

“We are going to close that detention center,” said an anti-ICE activist named Pedro. “It is not a matter of whether we’re going to close it, it’s when it’s going to close!” “A lot of politicians are dragging their feet, looking for all kinds of excuses, trying to talk themselves into not doing anything while allowing ICE to be in that detention center, brutalizing people, removing people from their homes, removing people from their workplaces, removing people from the communities, and we are not having that shit here anymore!”

“Don’t let the government say that you are a terrorist,” he continued. “ICE is the mother fucking terrorist!”

When it was time to saddle up and roll out, the ride spilled out of the plaza and onto Northeast Martin Luther King Jr. Blvd toward the Burnside Bridge. The group stretched the entire width of MLK from at least NE Couch to the Convention Center. As the front reached the western edge of the Burnside Bridge, they pulled over, dropped their bikes and laid down. It was a mass die-in and moment of silence where everyone could collect and connect their thoughts.

From there they rolled on NW Naito Parkway toward the ultimate destination of the ICE headquarters building on South Waterfront. All along the route people on sidewalks smiled and cheered. Drivers honked in support.

As the group went into the tunneled underpass of Interstate 5 just west of the ICE facility, folks began to hoot and holler. Seconds later, those shrieks of joy gave way to a roar from other protestors already assembled along S Bancroft St. Thousands of riders streamed onto the street as federal troops held long guns on the roof above, Portland Police officers on bikes looked over their shoulders nervously while holding back excited crowds on the sidewalk, and the Unpresidented Brass Band played what felt like a hero’s march.

As the rain began to fall in buckets, all I could here was, “You guys are awesome! You are heroes! Thank you!” Body paint streaked across naked skin but you could still read “Fuck ICE” and “Chinga La Migra.”

As the street became impassable and the crowd swelled like a sponge in the pouring rain, I could tell police were getting uncomfortable. After the ride doubled-back on itself and there were several minutes of revelry, dancing, and soaking in the triumphant moment — ride leaders urged everyone to continue north. From what I observed, everything remained peaceful.

The power was our presence. “Here we are,” said one person I spoke to. “Like, this is all of us. And this is Portland.”