I did not feel peaceful at Peace Corner yesterday. And I'm not sorry.

A Reflection After a Day of Protest

I did not feel peaceful at Peace Corner yesterday. And I'm not sorry. 

Well, actually, strike that. I did FEEL peaceful. But I was willing to BE belligerent.

And protesting? Though some will say, “What's the point?” Though some may not understand. And while it may be true standing there with a sign may not do anything in and of itself, it may do something for the person standing there. 

To do something. To feel and express something publicly in the moment. To not hide away our human pain from other humans. To let loose our howl when someone blasts their horn in support. To keep howling. 

And yeah, at times I may not have been as “peaceful” or civil as my fellow protesters to some of the tRumpers that yelled at us from their massive trucks, but honestly I'm sick of playing the decorum game. I'm pitta, and I’m pissed. I'm fired up. I'm going to fight back and the claws will come out. Don’t like it? Then ask me why my claws are out.

Maybe we Dems need to quit trying to be so above it all and be willing to let our utter disgust surface. Be real. Maybe we need to call a thing by its name and use the ugly words that describe it. Maybe we need to quit working so hard to be acceptable to everybody so everyone will like us? If we are doing the big work, not everyone is supposed to like us. Just ask Hillary.

Maybe rather than being so concerned with appearances, I’m going to stop caring about offending others if my expression of outrage occasionally comes out below the belt of my everyday acts of aggressive sensitivity and compassion. For me, that’s part of my balancing act. Again, not sorry. 

In the absence of public or community rituals that allow us to exorcise the fury we feel over being terrorized by the demons of corruption – which I define as selling out our core values for personal gain – public protests may be one of the few chances we have to be pissed in public. I think it would do us all good to be collectively pissed in public. Healing even.

Don’t let them scare you into your seat. Of course, dictators and cowards will call out their militias when the crowds call for justice. A peaceful protest does not mean we need to stand there doe-eved while they trample all over our civility. For me it means, I have a deep peace that holds me steady and centered while I take the hits. And land them. When I make good trouble.

For me, I believe a person can be a good human and yogi and still be willing to punch Nazis. 

Now, what kind of yoga teacher advocates for violence, one might ask? A reasonable question. But that question does not take into consideration the nuance of violence - versus harm. It certainly does not take into consideration the animus of it all.

Sometimes, we need to be aggressive in the face of aggression. When those that would use physical and political violence and intimidation to meet their needs are met with “peace”, they will run right over it. Appeasement does not work with fascism. Fascists see it as weak. Fascists see compromise as weak. Fascists see inclusion, equity and diversity as weak.

They take advantage of our altruism. Remember Big John Coffey from The Green Mile? “He killed them with their love. It happens all the time.”

Punching Nazis and Practicing Yoga: A Final Thought

Can a person be a good yogi and still be willing to punch a Nazi?

It’s a question that challenges our assumptions about what it means to be peaceful, to be spiritual, and to engage with the world in a way that aligns with our deepest values. For many, yoga is synonymous with inner calm, nonviolence, and detachment. It’s often reduced to an aesthetic of serenity—soft voices, slow movements, a promise to rise above.

But yoga is also about truth. It’s about discernment. And it’s about action.

Ahimsa, the principle of non-harming, is often cited as the core of yogic ethics. But what does non-harming look like in the face of harm? Is it passive acceptance? Is it turning the other cheek while injustice runs rampant? Or is it the willingness to act—to defend, to resist, to fight back when necessary?

Let’s be clear: punching Nazis isn’t about revenge. It’s about stopping violence before it spreads, before it infects entire societies with its poison. History has shown us that fascism thrives when people hesitate. It grows stronger when “good” people remain polite. The powerful count on our desire to be seen as reasonable. They take advantage of our spiritual aspirations, our attempts to “see both sides,” our instinct to look for compromise.

Reminder: Appeasement has never stopped fascism.

Yoga is a practice of balance, and sometimes balance requires force. The Bhagavad Gita, one of yoga’s foundational texts, unfolds on a battlefield. Arjuna, the warrior, is paralyzed by doubt. He doesn’t want to fight. He wants peace. But Krishna tells him plainly: this is your duty. This is your dharma. And avoiding the fight does not make you more righteous—it makes you complicit.

So no, I won’t apologize for my anger. I won’t suppress my outrage. I won’t pretend that civility is more important than justice.

And if you ask me whether a yogi can punch a Nazi, I’ll say this: If that’s what it takes to protect what’s sacred, then yes. And I won’t be sorry.