Sunday Signal — Issue 2 · October 19, 2025
From the march to the classroom to the page, the work of freedom is the same: to stay present, to stay human, and to keep creating.
📣 Signal Dispatch — Signals from the field
Issue 2 · October 19, 2025
THE FRONT MATTER
No Kings. No Stopping.
The chant fades; the conscience remains. From Camus to Thoreau, true resistance isn’t a moment in the street but a discipline of living freely.
“I rebel—therefore we exist.” —Albert Camus
The Sound That Lingers
By dawn, the chants were gone. Streets that had pulsed with defiance lay quiet again, scattered with cardboard signs, shattered crowns, and a surprising amount of glitter. The marchers called it No Kings—a single-day uprising meant to remind the nation that power answers to the people. Yet the question remains:
What’s supposed to happen when the march stops?
Did it work?
What does it mean for protest to “work”? Is it a law passed, a mind changed, a moment remembered? In an age of fleeting trends and fractured focus, perhaps what matters most (and what we too easily forget) is persistence and resolve.
To rebel, Camus wrote, is to affirm existence. Protest, then, is a declaration that we are still here and still unwilling to kneel. But survival alone is not victory, and visibility is not change. The challenge for every generation is to make resistance last longer than the march.
Power Is Not a Birthright.
Across roughly 2,600 sites in all 50 states, people stepped into the streets beneath that simple banner: “No Kings.” Organizers such as Indivisible and the ACLU trained thousands of volunteers in de-escalation, framing the day as a civic act rather than a confrontation. “There is nothing more American than saying ‘we don’t have kings…,’” Indivisible’s Leah Greenberg told reporters (Reuters).
The message spread beyond the United States: solidarity rallies labeled “No Tyrants” appeared in London, Madrid, and Bologna, each declaring that democracy’s crisis is global. Meanwhile, governors in several states activated National Guard units, and Republican leaders dismissed the gatherings as “hate America” rallies (AP News). Between those poles—state power and partisan ridicule—stood ordinary citizens holding signs that glowed like dawn: a warning and a promise.
The Pattern and the Pulse
Protest once moved nations; now it trends.
The marches of the 1960s and the direct actions of ACT UP during the AIDS epidemic of the 1980s endured because they were scaffolds for organizations that could negotiate, legislate, and teach. By contrast, many movements of the last decade, including Occupy, MeToo, and Black Lives Matter, flared brilliantly yet struggled to outlive the platforms that gave them voice.
Political scientists Erica Chenoweth and Maria Stephan found that non-violent movements succeeded over 50 percent of the time in the 20th century but barely one third since 2010. Governments adapted, attention fragmented, and algorithms learned to domesticate dissent. Still, people keep marching. As sociologist Dana Fisher notes, the power of protest today lies not in instant policy shifts but in re-forging collective identity—reminding citizens they are not alone in caring. In an atomized world, solidarity itself becomes a political act.
From Protest to Practice
What begins with shared defiance must grow through shared creation. The work has to continue in classrooms, neighborhood councils, and local economies. Cultural resistance—the slow, daily discipline of freedom—is protest translated into practice. It looks like journalists refusing silence, neighbors forming cooperatives, artists archiving truth, readers sharing the stories that power would rather erase.
Hannah Arendt wrote that freedom arises in the public realm through collective political action; Camus called rebellion an affirmation of shared dignity; Václav Havel urged us to live in truth even when power prefers lies. Long before them, Henry David Thoreau insisted that conscience outranks compliance—that the just person must act as though the state were always on moral trial. His refusal to pay a poll tax was less about a dollar than about integrity: a reminder that real freedom begins in the individual’s decision to live truthfully, even when the law does not.
Their lesson is the same one carried by every marcher yesterday: freedom is not a feeling, it’s a discipline. It must be practiced, tended, and taught—especially when the headlines move on.
The march is over. The work is not.
THE IMPRINT
Against the Clock: What Education Can Learn from the Slow Lane
As Texas and Tennessee race to reshape public education through top-down mandates, teacher surveillance, and rigid pacing models, one educator has issued a quiet refusal—insisting that education worth having cannot be rushed.
Amber Hammargren’s Balancing Boredom & Busyness, a three-part essay series unfolding now in Embers, offers a powerful meditation on learning at a human tempo. The first installment, The Speed of Learning, was published last Thursday. Parts Two and Three arrive in the coming week. But even in its opening chapter, Hammargren poses a radical question:
What if going slow isn’t failure—but the beginning of mastery?
“Every classroom lives between two fears: falling behind and standing still,” she writes in Part One. That tension now defines state-level reform.
In Texas, House Bill 1605, passed in 2023, requires districts to adopt state-approved instructional materials and mandates that teachers deliver them “with fidelity.” The bill, supported by Governor Greg Abbott, centralizes control of curriculum design and classroom content in the name of statewide consistency. According to the Texas Education Agency, HB 1605 is intended to align instruction with the “science of reading” and provides funding incentives for districts that comply with approved materials and methods.
In Tennessee, the Literacy Success Act, passed in 2021 during a special legislative session, mandates phonics-based reading instruction and introduces state pacing requirements. It also enforces a controversial third-grade retention policy: students who fail to meet proficiency on the state’s English language arts exam must attend summer school, receive tutoring, or risk being held back. The law, like its counterpart in Texas, is framed as an application of research-based literacy practices.
Both laws draw their authority from what’s often referred to as the “science of reading”—a broad field of research into how children learn to read, which includes phonemic awareness, phonics, fluency, vocabulary, and comprehension. But Hammargren warns against confusing science with standardization. “There is no magic wand that will cause all the students in a classroom to be constantly engaged or to grow at the same rate,” she writes, “and it is a mistake to continue chasing after something that does not exist.”
In Part One, she describes the pressure students feel around pace—not just fear of falling behind, but fear of being bored, disconnected, or treated as interchangeable. “Students are often equally concerned with the pace of the content being too fast as they are with too slow.” This nuance is often absent in the political framing of learning loss, where faster pacing and tighter controls are offered as universal solutions.
What Hammargren makes visible is the emotional and relational cost of treating learning as a race. “The right materials, at the right time, at the right level of challenge, in the right environment… create a transformative magic,” she writes—but that alchemy cannot be packaged or legislated. It requires attention, care, and the professional judgment of the teacher in the room.
In Part Two, arriving Thursday, she shifts to systemic critique—what she calls “the Capitalist-Industrialist version of consistency,” a model where students are expected “to learn the same thing, at the same rate, at the same time, to the same depth, for the same applications.” It’s not just a metaphor; it’s a policy reality now embedded in curriculum reforms, instructional materials, and state dashboards.
Against this mechanized model, Hammargren draws from disciplines that have held her attention for decades: music, martial arts, and swimming. “The repetitions are not exactly repetitions at all… they are iterations that spiral deeper into mastery.” In these traditions, growth is not forced—it is supported. Learners move forward at the pace their effort, context, and readiness allow.
She notes that in these fields, no one calls learners broken if they take longer to master a skill. “Your place in your journey is what it is, you are where you are, and you grow at the rate that you grow.”
That message becomes even more urgent in Part Three, which publishes Thursday. In a story from her college clarinet lessons, Hammargren recalls her professor telling her: “Sometimes growth comes in miles, and that always makes us feel good. But sometimes growth comes in millimeters, and that is harder to see. Both are worthy of recognition.” It’s a statement that cuts to the core of the accountability era’s blind spot: if we only celebrate what we can measure quickly, we’ll forget what matters slowly.
“There is a quiet rebellion in refusing to rush,” she writes in the final essay. “In a world that screams that speed is everything, there is power in reclaiming your own tempo.”
It’s important to clarify: Hammargren is not arguing against rigor, research, or structure. She affirms that “there is a science to teaching and learning” and encourages teachers to “study a wide variety of techniques and practices.” Her concern is not with phonics—it’s with the political misuse of educational science to justify inflexible mandates that reduce teachers to script-readers and students to data points.
In her vision, the path to meaningful learning is not paved with more minutes or tighter scripts. It’s built on trust, responsiveness, and care. If public education is to recover from crisis—not just pandemics, but decades of over-standardization—it must rediscover the power of pacing: not in service to compliance, but in service to growth.
As policymakers impose speed in the name of equity, Hammargren reminds us:
“Balance is a good thing.”
Further Reading:
Texas Education Agency: House Bill 1605 Implementation Overview
Tennessee General Assembly: Literacy Success Act summary (HB7003)
ECHOES FROM THE ECOSYSTEM
The Torch & Tinder cultural resistance ecosystem is a constellation of allied projects, each building freedom through its own craft. Together they form part of the living network of cultural resistance that surrounds the press, connecting practice to purpose and imagination to action. Here, we share glimpses and insights from our ecosystem partners.
Refuge Bonne Foi
Sometimes resistance needs quiet ground.
Refuge Bonne Foi is a digital campus for reflection, learning, and creative practice—a sheltered counterpart to the public work of Torch & Tinder Press. It’s a place to recover, study, and build the inner steadiness that makes outer freedom possible.
Each part of the Refuge tends to a distinct practice of resistance: mindfulness in the Sanctuary, wisdom in the Phrontistery, creation in the Arts Complex, health in the Field House, and community in Refuge Green. Woven together, they form a living ecosystem where clarity, craft, and care take root—where people can move, rest, make, and remember why the work matters.
The Refuge is guided by The Ethos of Embers and Ash: show up in good faith—with care, clarity, and curiosity. Here, learning is not a performance, and rest is not retreat. It’s how we keep the torch burning.
Refuge Bonne Foi is still new—a small community finding its rhythm. Not every room is finished yet, but the foundation is here: good faith, clear purpose, and room to breathe. If you join us early, you’ll be part of shaping what grows next.
Want to Join Our Ecosystem?
Does your group or project need a safe, intentional space to work online? Consider joining us at Refuge Bonne Foi, an independent digital campus where allied projects gather to study, build, and grow.
Each ecosystem partner hosted at the Refuge receives a private project space customized to its needs. By default, unaffiliated Refuge members can view only your Welcome channel (ensuring autonomy and safety) while designated roles make it easy for your team to onboard new collaborators. Server management and moderation are handled by the Refuge Caretaker and Groundskeepers, and all partners have access to the Refuge Research Desk. You’ll also be invited to join regularly scheduled Project Circles, where members from across the ecosystem come together to share insights, challenges, and support.
All Refuge members are invited (never required) to explore the wider campus, engage across projects, and take part in shared community spaces—the living practice that links all our work.
To begin the process, please review The Ethos of Embers & Ash. If it resonates with you, send a brief introduction about your group or project and why you’d like to work at the Refuge to: info@torchandtinder.org.
KINDLING & COMPASS
Each week, we spotlight organizations keeping the tools of resistance sharp and accessible.
ACLU — Encountering Law Enforcement and Military Troops
When public spaces fill with uniforms, clarity protects more than courage. The ACLU’s Encountering Law Enforcement and Military Troops guide explains your rights if you’re stopped, searched, or questioned — especially in Washington, D.C., where overlapping jurisdictions can blur accountability. It covers what you must provide, how to document interactions safely, and what to do if your rights are violated.
RAICES — Legal Aid for Immigrants and Asylum Seekers
Freedom means little without access to defense. RAICES (Refugee and Immigrant Center for Education and Legal Services) provides free and low-cost legal help for immigrants and asylum seekers facing detention or deportation, along with “Know Your Rights” workshops and community education. Their model reminds us that resistance is not just protest — it’s protecting each other when systems fail to.
These are not endorsements; they’re signals. Lights in the same constellation of freedom.
THE ADVANCE SHEET
What’s rising from the press this week.
Torchlight Praxis — The Four Domains of Cultural Resistance (Part II)
Our Wednesday feature continues the Torchlight Praxis series on the Four Domains of Cultural Resistance, exploring how collective strength is built through daily, deliberate practice.
Embers — Balancing Boredom and Busyness (Part II)
On Thursday, Embers returns with the second part of Balancing Boredom and Busyness, reflecting on rhythm, attention, and the space where creativity begins.
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MARGINS & MARKUP
Press News and Calls for Action
Submissions
Submissions for Embers are currently open and we will soon begin accepting submissions for Torchlight Praxis (Tools You Can Carry) and Signal Dispatch (Signals from the Field).
Writers, artists, and journalists interested in cultural resistance, resilience frameworks, or reports from the ground: stay tuned for full guidelines this week.
Join the Team
TTPress is seeking volunteer staff members to help shape the press from the ground up. Roles include editorial support, communications, research, and community engagement.
If you believe freedom is a practice and publishing is resistance, we’d love to work with you.
SHARED HEAT
A Reflection From the Founder
This has been a season of building and recalibration. Every lane of the press is in motion again, and with each piece that reaches readers, the shape of our shared work becomes clearer. The protests fade, the classrooms fill, the writing continues. What links them all is a simple truth: freedom is learned through practice, not preserved by accident.
Cultural resistance is the work of making meaning where pressure tries to erase it. It is the practice of holding memory, imagination, and moral clarity in the same hand, even when the world rewards haste or silence. It asks us to create, to teach, to witness, and to sustain connection in a time built to scatter attention. Endurance matters, but only because it keeps the space open for creativity, conscience, and care to do their work.
Behind the scenes, that same spirit shapes the quieter labor of the press. Volunteers, contributors, and partners are building the frameworks that let ideas move freely: submissions and workflows, editorial circles, shared archives, and the long, patient craft of editing. Much of this work happens out of view, yet it carries the same weight as any published page. It is how trust takes form.
Cultural resistance is not only what we publish but how we practice it together. Each contributor who sends a poem, each reader who shares a post, each supporter who keeps the lights on extends the signal outward. What we’re building is not a single publication but a network of care, a rhythm of shared attention that keeps the torch alight.
If this month has a lesson, it’s that freedom deepens through participation. The practice is neither glamorous nor quick. It asks us to keep showing up, to rest when we must, and to return with intention. The light travels farther each time someone picks it up.
Thank you for reading, for sharing, and for helping this small press grow into something durable and generous. The signal is stronger each week because of you.
—Robert Daniel, Founder, Torch & Tinder Press
You are the signal.
Keep your torchlight burning.
Explore more from Torch & Tinder Press
📣 Signal Dispatch — Signals from the field (you’re here)
🔧 Torchlight Praxis — Tools you can carry
🔥 Embers — Warmth for the long winter
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This article comes at the perfect time. Your analysis of sustained resistance is so insightful. It reminds me of my Pilate practise; real progress is never just one class. It’s the consistent, quiet effort that truly builds strength. Visibility is not change, as you expertly noted. Excellent piece.