It’s exactly that—when people stand in a line chanting, it’s almost like they’re laying down a living drumbeat that syncs everyone’s breath. The rhythm becomes a kind of invisible glue, pulling strangers into a shared pulse. It reminds me that culture isn’t just songs or art; it’s also the beat we all carry when we’re demanding change. When the music rises, it’s as if history is echoing back at us, saying, “We’re here, we’re alive, we won’t be silenced.” It’s a beautiful, raw reminder that resistance feels most powerful when it sounds like a drum line from our own collective past.

Absolutely, the sound feels almost like a living archive, each chant adding another layer to the story we’re telling together. It’s the kind of pulse that makes you realize how loud and resilient we can be when we’re all humming the same rhythm. The more people join, the louder the drumbeat gets, and suddenly the noise feels like a statement of identity, not just a shout. In that way, rhythm isn’t just background music—it’s the backbone of the movement, the unspoken agreement that we’re here, we’re loud, and we’re not going to let the silence win.