France’s shocking surrender to Nazi Germany in June 1940 left citizens stunned and unsure how to resist the German occupation and Vichy’s collaborationist regime. Distrust was everywhere—few knew whom to confide in without risking betrayal. Prewar political parties, blamed for the defeat, lay discredited; the French Communist Party, later a Resistance powerhouse, stood down under Hitler’s nonaggression pact with Stalin. It took a year for the Resistance to gain traction. Backed by the Allies, De Gaulle’s Free French in London parachuted agents into occupied territory, uniting disparate groups with clashing ideologies. After Germany invaded the USSR in June 1941, communists joined en masse, adding militancy. By late 1941, 10,000 to 20,000 fighters were sabotaging factories, cutting rail lines and assassinating German officers.

Americans who want to resist Donald Trump face similar disarray and demoralization. Liberals blame progressives for failing to turn out for Kamala while leftists point fingers at Democrats for failing to counter a hard-right turn. Unlike France, where a coalition of resistance eventually coalesced, the U.S. lacks a unified revolutionary force waiting in the wings.

Project 2025 isn’t Pétain’s Collected Speeches—ICE raids and deportations aside, this is still autocracy lite. Vichy’s dictatorship had already taken root. So what’s the point of this analogy? Resistance is hard, even in France, with its history of three revolutions and major uprisings like the 1871 Paris Commune before World War II.

In the U.S., where sustained political protests have not taken over the streets for over 50 years, many on the left haven’t seen real resistance. How can they know what actively and effectively engaging the government of the world’s most powerful nation-state looks like?

Last weekend saw the first major protests of Trump’s second term. Thousands marched in cities in all 50 states against the president’s policies and deportation orders, braving snow in some areas. For opponents, the turnout—estimated at a million nationwide—offers hope. Anger is palpable. Energy is high. Are the “Hands Off!” demos the start of a lasting movement or, like the 2017 Women’s March (co-organized by some of the same Democrat-allied groups), a fleeting outburst?

If sustained, can marches alone create enough disruption to force Trump to back off? The history of protests suggests no.

Economic pressure has historically worked. In ancient Egypt circa 1157 BCE, hungry pyramid workers withheld their labor over small rations, as recorded in the Middle Kingdom’s Turin Strike Papyrus. The pharaoh caved. In 494 BCE, Rome’s Plebeians walked out, threatening to create a new city and crashing the economy until the Patricians granted representation, debt forgiveness and other concessions. Without organization, however, such tactics are destined to fail. Occupy Wall Street’s call for a general strike in 2011 and a February 2025 anti-Trump consumer boycott fizzled, leaving leftists looking impotent and foolish.

In Nazi-occupied Europe, resistance meant defiance at mortal risk. Dutch families like the ten Booms hid Jews in secret rooms, supplying food and forged papers despite Gestapo raids. France’s Maquis sheltered downed pilots, guiding them via the Comet network. Polish partisans spirited fighters through forests, sharing meager rations. These acts—punishable by torture, execution or deportation—disrupted Nazi control and saved lives. They were a message to the outside world: we refuse to stand by passively.

Little of this is possible without a unified militant political movement to organize people and to defend them when they are in trouble. So it’s understandable that, at this time when events are moving quickly, opponents of Trumpism choose to take a stand in the streets—marching and chanting and carrying signs is something anyone can do, especially when they have the day off from work on a Saturday. But nothing can substitute for the long hard work of rebuilding the American left from the ground up. Moreover, protest marches can be counterproductive. Local police departments and other agencies photograph and use drones to track protesters and add them to their databases, making troublemakers easier to catch in the future.

Resisting Trump might mean hiding migrants from ICE’s anonymous kidnapping squads in homes or safe houses, offering food, medical care or fake IDs through modern underground railroads. This risks prison, fines or asset seizure under a vicious federal law (8 U.S.C. § 1324) that bans harboring undocumented immigrants. In this surveillance state, it would be difficult to avoid detection. Discretion is essential.

Real resistance—the kind that matters—carries danger. In 2018, Ravi Ragbir, a Trinidadian activist, was detained by ICE in Manhattan for an 18-year-old conviction. Protesters, including councilmen Jumaane Williams and Ydanis Rodriguez, blocked the ICE van; both were arrested and one injured, but they won. A judge later blocked Ragbir’s deportation, citing his activism as a First Amendment defense. In Portland that year, days-long blockades of an ICE facility over family separations forced ICE to move and release some detainees. In Harlem in March, a white New Yorker named Dustin West and his neighbor physically intervened in an ICE arrest and were handcuffed and roughed up.

Resistance isn’t for everyone. Only about two percent of the French actively resisted the Nazis. But everyone understood what real Resistance was. If you’re serious about opposing Trump and a perceived slide into autocracy over which he is presiding, you must first grasp what resistance demands—sustained commitment, risk and, sometimes, standing between the agents of the state and their targets.

(Ted Rall, the political cartoonist, columnist and graphic novelist, co-hosts the left-vs-right DMZ America podcast with fellow cartoonist Scott Stantis and The TMI Show with political analyst Manila Chan. Subscribe: tedrall.Substack.com.)