On October 18, 2025, the city of Boston found itself at the epicenter of a political storm that’s been brewing within the Democratic Party for years. The No Kings rally, a sprawling protest drawing at least 100,000 people to Boston Common and an estimated 7 million nationwide, was meant to be a show of unity against what many speakers called the Trump administration’s "authoritarian grip" on U.S. policy. But the event quickly became a microcosm of the deepening divide over transgender rights and the party’s struggle to capture the nation’s attention in a fractured media age.
Senator Ed Markey, a stalwart of Massachusetts progressivism, took the stage draped in a transgender pride flag. The crowd erupted in applause as Markey declared, "We’re going to get up, we’re going to stand for the right thing, and we are going to win. Because here in Massachusetts, we stand for what is right. We stand with trans people because trans rights are human rights." According to reporting from the No Kings rally and corroborated by multiple media outlets, Markey’s embrace of the trans flag was more than symbolic—it was a pointed rebuke to those in his own party urging moderation on transgender issues in the wake of electoral setbacks.
The contrast was stark when Representative Seth Moulton, Markey’s newly declared challenger for the 2026 Senate seat, was introduced by Representative Ayanna Pressley. A wave of boos and jeers rippled through the crowd, a reaction that seemed to crystallize months of mounting frustration among LGBTQ+ activists and progressive Democrats. Moulton’s earlier comments about transgender girls in sports—referring to them as "boys" and expressing fears for his own daughters—had already drawn sharp criticism. He’d said, "I have two little girls, I don’t want them getting run over on a playing field by a male or formerly male athlete, but as a Democrat I’m supposed to be afraid to say that." The Boston Globe and other outlets noted that these remarks, coming on the heels of the 2024 election, had alienated many in the party’s base.
Governor Maura Healey was quick to condemn Moulton’s stance, stating, "I also think it’s important in this moment that we not pick on particularly vulnerable children… And you know that’s what I’ve been disappointed in seeing," accusing the congressman of "playing politics" with trans kids’ lives. The backlash didn’t end with words—protesters gathered outside Moulton’s district office, demanding accountability and reaffirming their commitment to trans rights. As reported by MassLive, the frustration among LGBTQ+ Democratic activists has lingered, casting a shadow over Moulton’s campaign.
This tension at the Boston rally is just one chapter in a broader debate raging within the Democratic Party. As the nation grapples with a government shutdown and the specter of Republican spending bills packed with anti-trans amendments for fiscal year 2026, Democrats are being pulled in two directions. Some centrist organizations, often well-funded, argue that transgender rights cost the party dearly in 2024 and are urging a pivot to the right. But as the events in Boston demonstrated, there’s a growing faction within the party that’s not only refusing to retreat—they’re doubling down.
Representative Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez, for example, recently reaffirmed her support for transgender constituents in a widely shared Instagram video, while New York City mayoral candidate Zohran Mamdani released a campaign ad centered on trans history and his promise to protect the community. Markey’s highly visible gesture at the rally was just the latest in a series of moves by prominent Democrats to make the defense of transgender rights central to their political identity.
But the party’s internal battle isn’t just about policy—it’s about how to win back the country’s attention. As detailed in a recent New York Times essay by Chris Hayes, the Democratic Party faces an unprecedented challenge in the modern media environment. During the first night of this month’s government shutdown, congressional Democrats attempted to seize the narrative by hosting a YouTube livestream focused on expiring Affordable Care Act subsidies and the looming spike in health insurance premiums. At its peak, the stream drew just 1,000 viewers, a stark illustration of how difficult it has become to break through the noise.
Hayes points out that, despite record-breaking advertising spending by the Harris-Walz campaign in 2024, Democrats failed to capture enough voter attention in key swing states. The core problem, he argues, wasn’t the message—often focused on economic populism and working-class solidarity—but the inability to reach people in a fragmented media landscape dominated by former President Trump’s relentless command of public focus. "If Mr. Trump had not run a single paid advertisement in the race, he almost surely would have dominated the single most important resource of our age: attention," Hayes writes.
Traditional campaign strategies—raising money to buy TV ads and relying on controlled media appearances—are no longer enough. Audiences have splintered across platforms, and money can’t buy attention the way it once did. Successful candidates now have to "go everywhere," from mainstream podcasts to local news to social media, and be willing to engage off-script with all kinds of audiences. Trump’s appearances on podcasts like "Bussin’ With the Boys" and his willingness to take unscripted questions gave him a reach that Democrats struggled to match.
Democrats who have thrived in this new environment—like Ocasio-Cortez with her Instagram Live sessions or Mamdani with his viral on-the-street videos—have done so by producing frequent, authentic content that meets voters where they are. Jeff Jackson, a former North Carolina representative, built a following by explaining congressional procedures on TikTok, helping him outperform the top of the ticket in his state’s attorney general race.
The lesson, according to Hayes and echoed by many party strategists, is that Democrats must shed their fear of negative attention and embrace the reality that even controversial moments are quickly forgotten in today’s distracted society. "Gaffes—or controversial and even offensive statements by candidates—do not matter the way they once did," he writes. The risk-averse approach of the Harris-Walz campaign, which avoided unscripted town halls and limited press engagement, failed to generate the kind of attention needed to compete in 2024.
As the 2026 election cycle looms, the Democratic Party faces a fundamental question: Can it reconcile the demands of its energized progressive base with the strategic necessity of capturing the nation’s fractured attention span? The events in Boston suggest that, at least in some quarters, the answer is to lean in—loudly, visibly, and without apology. The coming months will test whether that strategy can unite the party and, perhaps more importantly, break through to the voters who will decide its future.
The story of the No Kings rally, and the broader debate it represents, is far from over. But one thing is clear: In the battle for both policy and the public’s attention, the Democrats are being forced to reinvent the playbook—one viral moment, and one contentious rally, at a time.
