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By the time you read this another round of “No Kings” protests will have taken place across Colorado and the country. Participants will feel empowered from standing shoulder to shoulder in solidarity chanting slogans and waving signs their voices of dissent heard loud and clear coast to coast.

But now that the signs are propped against the garage wall and social media feeds feature more dog videos and advertisements than protest pics, it’s worth asking: what did the “No Kings” protest accomplish? Was the message heard by anyone other than those making it? Did it change a single mind?

Probably not. The fact that I had to look up what organizers meant by “No Kings” is one indication. With the dozens of well-funded left-leaning organizations listed as partners on the website, surely one of them could have the lent the effort a descent comms guy. For all its catchy repetition, the website’s declaration “No Thrones. No Crowns. No Kings” makes no sense. These don’t exist even in Trump’s garishly gilded Oval Office. The “about” page, which goes on about tyranny, dictatorship, and coronation, is no less illuminating. What country are we talking about?

This is the kind of overwrought language that even sympathetic readers like me find laughable. And I am sympathetic. President Trump is mendacious, vengeful, and unscrupulous. He continuously violates constitutional boundaries by violating due process and usurping the legislature’s prerogatives. He elevates unqualified sycophants to head agencies, alienates foreign allies, and uses government power to punish opponents. Also, his tariffs are driving up prices. But he isn’t the first to abuse power in these ways (though he may be the most brazen) and the courts are restraining his worst excesses. The republic remains strong.

Trump is no king, much less a dictator or a tyrant. Words like these should be reserved for men like Russia’s Putin and Venezuela’s Maduro if they are to mean anything. Trump critics have to find better ways to communicate our concerns. Fear-mongering, which comes off equal parts paranoid and patronizing, is the surest way to make people stop listening.

In the past, I’ve found that the best way to be heard is to first listen. I’ve asked thoughtful, Trump supporting friends why they like the president. They told me that they support his policies to secure the border, increase energy production, tackle government waste, protect women’s sports, uphold religious liberty, and increase school choice. One friend said, although she doesn’t always like what Trump says, she appreciates that he says what he thinks instead of mincing words. Another said she likes his efforts to ease regulatory burdens and his work ending the Hamas-Israel conflict.

The last point is something everyone, right or left, can agree is an unqualified good. War is tragic. The ceasefire and return of the hostages is a foreign policy triumph that could be a first step toward lasting peace between Israelis and Palestinians. By acknowledging Trump’s positive role, Trump critics can create common ground for dialogue with Trump supporters. We can earn the right to have our concerns heard.

Alas, “Trump deserves praise for facilitating peace in Israel and Palestine but we have grave concerns about several of his domestic policies” doesn’t fit well on a protest sign, but it’s more likely to be heard by Trump supporters. Conversing with the unconverted is much harder than preaching to the choir.

Krista Kafer is a Sunday Denver Post columnist.

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Tragically, in 2019, my fiancée took her own life. What began as one of the most heartbreaking, devastating experiences of my life, turned into an unending nightmare. The police arrested me after I called 911 because they believed we had been arguing. But then, with scant investigation, prosecutors immediately charged me with murder and imprisoned me for 72 days without bail.

A jury eventually found me not guilty, but only after my attorney learned a prosecutor purposefully withheld evidence exonerating me. That may be unimaginable in America — but it happened to me. And when it did, I learned the hard truth: prosecutors (unlike almost any other lawyer or professional) enjoy absolute immunity, meaning both the wrongly accused and victims of crime have no recourse, and prosecutors cannot be sued for the damage they cause.

I learned firsthand that when attorneys fail to fulfill their oaths of office, just like a doctor or police officer, the consequences can be dire – even life-ending. This becomes even more egregious when that failure is purposeful, yet not all attorneys are held equal under the law.

I was wrongly incarcerated and prosecuted, even though the forensic pathologist refused to rule my fiance’s death a homicide. Only weeks after my arrest — while I remained behind bars — Denver’s own chief deputy crime lab director and the lead Denver homicide detective advised the prosecutor of their opinions that the death was not a homicide, but a suicide. Even though the prosecutor knew this critical information that would have exonerated me, the prosecutor purposefully withheld this information from myself and my defense team for nearly 8 months. I was eventually acquitted only after these opinions were forcibly revealed in response to a court order.

Who was that prosecutor? Chief Deputy Dan Cohen from the Denver District Attorney’s office. The judge, clearly outraged, issued a sanction allowing my lawyer to cross-examine the witnesses about their favorable opinions — but otherwise faced no consequences. His law license remained intact, and his boss excused the behavior.

Imagine my outrage and disappointment when I read a recent Denver Post article covering judges dismissing other cases in which Chief Deputy Daniel Cohen failed to disclose critical and favorable evidence to the accused. In the most recent case, this was again not a clerical oversight or an isolated misstep. In fact, the judge in the case ruled, “At this point in time, I can’t find that it’s anything other than willful given the number of times this issue has been addressed with this particular counsel.” The Post article pointed out that there have been at least seven other discovery violations committed by the Denver District Attorney’s Office since February of 2025.

These are real Coloradan’s lives on the line. Yet the wrongly accused, like myself, have no recourse to hold prosecutors accountable.

This story shows that even when judges grow frustrated with prosecutors’ misconduct, their tools are limited. They can allow broader cross-examination or dismiss a case — but they cannot punish the prosecutor. The repeated violations we see prove that these sanctions, while appropriate, do little to deter misconduct. And with Mr. Cohen still abusing his power five years after egregiously breaking the rules in my case, it’s clear the Denver District Attorney’s office isn’t imposing serious discipline either.

Prosecutors are the most powerful lawyers in America. They decide who to criminally charge, when and what crimes to allege, whether to offer leniency, what evidence to turn over and what sentence to pursue. As I now personally understand, they have an immense amount of power to impact the lives and families of both the guilty and the innocent.

Given this power, you’d expect prosecutors to be held to higher standards of accountability. Instead, the opposite is true. Misconduct is brushed off as business as usual, denied and excused at every turn, and much of it never comes to light.  Even when caught red-handed, prosecutors keep their jobs and their law licenses, shielded from any liability for damage they cause. In any other profession, mine included as an architect, such deliberate abuses would end a career.

Cohen, like other prosecutors who commit intentional misconduct are shielded – entirely. Like in Cohen’s case, they rarely face employment or bar discipline, and they also can’t be sued for the deliberate harm they cause. I eventually went with my only recourse and filed a lawsuit against the City of Denver and the police force because, unlike prosecutors, they don’t have unlimited immunity. A judge unfortunately dismissed the case, because ultimately it was the (immune) prosecutor, and not the detective, who could be held to answer to a jury for the alleged malicious prosecution and for the willful failure to disclose the favorable evidence.

Many prosecutors do act with integrity. But as this story makes clear, absolute immunity has bred a culture of impunity that leaves them above the very law they’re meant to enforce. But no one should be above the law.

When prosecutors break the rules, justice breaks down. People like myself suffer a potential wrongful conviction. Our careers and families are destroyed, our reputations are ruined, and we suffer crushing financial loss. At the same time victims of crime are denied justice and finality. The result is a system the public can’t trust. If Colorado is serious about restoring trust and protecting the rights of every Coloradan, it must reform the law so prosecutors can finally be held accountable.

Micah Kimball is a licensed architect and general contractor who designs and builds thoughtful spaces. After a prosecution that derailed his career and life, he now works with Protect Ethical Prosecutors to promote fairness and reform.

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This summer, a grizzly cub in Grand Teton National Park gained international fame after an adult male bear killed the yearling’s two siblings. The sole survivor of the attack, dubbed “Miracle,” then separated from its mother to fend for itself, sometimes hanging around a busy area of the park.

As Miracle’s story spread, the cub became the object of fascination for thousands of people. Perhaps that’s no surprise, as many of us are intrigued by the grizzly’s power and strength, along with the reality that it’s an apex predator, like us.

Miracle’s survival is precarious. Since she left the protection of her mother so early, she’s on her own finding food before hibernating. Seventy-seven grizzlies died in the Yellowstone area last year–the highest number yet. As of September 2025, 63 bears had been killed; at this rate, the number of dead bears will surpass last year’s record. What’s going on?

You could say that grizzly bear recovery in the Lower 48 is a success story. Prior to European settlement, an estimated 50,000 bears roamed throughout the Lower 48. By 1970, though, only about 800 remained, with perhaps 130 of them in the Greater Yellowstone Ecosystem.

In 1975, grizzlies were listed under the Endangered Species Act, which ended their indiscriminate slaughter, and bear numbers slowly rebounded. Today, the Forest Service says an estimated 700 grizzlies live in and around the Yellowstone area, with maybe 1,000 more in the Northern Continental Divide region of Montana. Despite the increase in numbers, mortality rates are on the rise.

Most wildlife managers say the current rate is not a matter of concern. They say the species is stable.

And yet, is it? Roughly 200 cubs are born in the Greater Yellowstone Ecosystem recovery area each year, but of those, only around 40 survive. Wildlife managers assure us bears are doing well, but is this sustainable — especially when the mortality rate keeps inching upward year after year?

The most obvious reason for bear deaths is us. We are everywhere. 2024 marked the second-busiest year in Yellowstone National Park’s history with more than 4.7 million visitors. In August of 2025, the park was on track to see a 2% visitor increase over 2024.

On top of increased visitation, the human population in the Rocky Mountain West where grizzlies roam is growing steadily. Teton County, Wyoming has seen a 10% increase in residents over the last decade. The population in Teton County, Idaho is up 74% since 1990. Gallatin County, Montana has grown about 40% in the last 10 years.

On the ground, you can’t miss the impacts of growth: Trails are crowded. Parking is at a premium. You need reservations at restaurants, and the traffic is often stop and go. Not surprisingly, bear-human conflicts are more frequent: Vehicle collisions kill bears, interactions with landowners kill bears.

Grizzlies might do fine with more people if their habitat were intact and healthy, but much of their home ground has been in moderate to severe drought for several years, according to U.S. Drought Monitor. This year’s berry crop was dismal. Whitebark pines, whose seeds are an important food source for bears, are threatened by beetles and blister rust.

All this forces grizzlies to search out new food sources, and some of the best ones turn out to be ours. Our cows and sheep. Our apple trees. Our bee hives.

Wyoming U.S. Representative Harriet Hageman has introduced legislation to take away endangered species protections for grizzly bears, which would be a major blow to their survival. “People shouldn’t have to live in fear of grizzly bears rummaging through their trash or endangering their children,” Hageman said. Such comments are deliberately inflammatory.

I have heard three people describe surviving a bear attack decades ago. All three insisted that the bear was only acting in self-defense. One even remembers how awed he was by the diamond-like glint of water droplets on the bear’s fur as she ran toward him.

I’m not sure what would happen if I faced a charging bear. I just want enough wherewithal to pull out my bear spray. While I hope I never have to deploy that spray, I am willing to take the risk to know wild bears roam the landscape. If grizzlies were gone, something vital would be missing from our world.

While grizzly bear mortality may not yet be alarming wildlife managers, I hope we’ve gotten a wakeup call.

Molly Absolon is a contributor to Writers on the Range, writersontherange.org, an independent nonprofit dedicated to spurring lively conversation about the West. She hikes and writes in Yellowstone bear country.

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On Oct. 7, I walked into the U.S. Supreme Court, not because I ever imagined myself there, but because I love the kids and families who sit across from me in my counseling office.

I’m a licensed professional counselor in Colorado. My calling is simple: to listen with compassion to my clients and to walk with them through their struggles. Some of the kids I have met are carrying heavy questions about who they are. They’re confused, hurting, and longing for someone to hear them out. Many just want help making peace with the bodies God gave them.

But Colorado has interfered in those discussions. In 2019, the state passed a law that censors me from saying certain things to my clients. If a teenage girl who started identifying as a boy tells me, “I want to learn to be comfortable in my body and try to live as a girl again,” I am legally forbidden from helping with that goal. Yet if that same child says, “I want to reject my body and continue living as a boy,” the law allows me to encourage that path. The government has picked sides. And if I don’t comply, I risk thousands of dollars in fines, suspension, and even the loss of my license.

That reality is devastating to me, because the very reason I became a counselor was to create a safe space where people could be honest, share their deepest questions, and sort through their struggles without fear of judgment. Counseling isn’t about pushing an agenda; it’s about offering the care a client is asking for. It’s about trust. It’s about choice.

When I counsel minors on these issues, it’s always voluntary. No one is forced into my office. The kids who have asked me for help are motivated–often desperate—to find clarity and comfort. Some are working through identity questions, others are wrestling with family relationships, and still others are navigating feelings of isolation or shame. What they all have in common is a desire for someone to listen and to walk alongside them.

Yet, under Colorado’s law, I can’t help certain kids because the state doesn’t agree with their counseling goal to realign with their biological sex. Colorado’s law tells struggling kids that they don’t get that choice. It tells families–struggling young people and the parents who love them—that they cannot pursue the help they together believe is best. And it tells counselors like me that we cannot respond to our clients’ questions unless we parrot a government-approved viewpoint.

That breaks my heart because kids deserve better. They deserve open, honest counseling conversations. They deserve the freedom to set their own goals for counseling and to pursue the futures they want–not the ones the state dictates.

I’ve listened to those who regret being pushed too quickly into medical interventions. Many say they wish someone had slowed down, asked better questions, and helped them find peace in their own bodies. The law in Colorado allows discussions that push young people toward these medical interventions, but it threatens the license of any counselor who would help them pursue the opposite path. That’s not compassion. That’s censorship.

The case I chose to file through my attorneys with Alliance Defending Freedom over that censorship, Chiles v. Salazar, is about freedom–freedom for families to choose the counselor they trust, freedom for kids to set the goals they believe will bring them peace, and freedom for counselors like me to offer help without fear of government punishment.

I’m standing before the Supreme Court because kids are hurting, parents are being sidelined, and counselors are being silenced. I couldn’t look at my clients and do nothing. My prayer is that the justices will protect the freedom to have these conversations–because every child deserves the chance to hear words of truth, hope, and healing from someone who cares.

Kaley Chiles is a licensed professional counselor in Colorado Springs.

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For 730 days, I’ve watched the world reach for simple answers to something that defies explanation. Two years have passed since Hamas terrorists murdered 1,195 people and took 251 more as hostages.

The October 7 attack tore open a wound that runs deep in the Jewish heart, shaped by generations who have known persecution and fear. That dark day set off a wave of loss and destruction that continues to consume lives in Israel, Gaza, and across the Middle East. To speak of the October 7 attack and of Hamas only in passing, as if they were incidental to the tragedy that followed, is to turn away from the hard truth of what began that day and the vast suffering it set in motion.

Those of us who care about peace have an obligation to speak with honesty and humility. We must engage openly with everyone’s trauma and be willing to hold complexity rather than reduce it. Our energy is better spent wrestling with that complexity — and seeking ways through it — than debating which legal definition best fits this tragedy.

In that spirit, I feel compelled to find words that open hearts rather than harden them. I hope this piece helps each reader look beyond the slogans and simple stories we’ve all been handed. For some, it might mean facing the sheer cruelty of the October 7 attack and remembering that nearly fifty hostages remain in Gaza. For others, it could mean confronting the reality that Hamas steals food and medicine, using innocent Palestinians as human shields to prolong suffering and generate international pressure on Israel. And for some, it may be acknowledging the staggering rise in antisemitism since that day. Whatever it is, I hope something here reaches you.

Earlier this year, I joined a delegation of Colorado civic leaders to Israel. We visited the site of the Nova music festival to bear witness to the massacre that took place there. I recited the Mourner’s Kaddish and felt a profound connection to those lost — including several with deep ties to Colorado. I was moved to tears when a pastor traveling with us offered a prayer for mourning and healing. His words reminded me that grief itself is not a political act. To mourn those lives is not to take a side; it is to recognize our shared humanity.

Yet too many, on both sides of this tragedy, extend that humanity to only one group of victims. Here in Colorado, on the second anniversary of the attack, rallies at the Tabor Center are “honoring our martyrs” and claiming that Hamas fighters who raped and murdered Israelis were engaged in “brave resistance.”

At CU Boulder, fliers for an event the same day declare that “decolonization is always a violent phenomenon,” then add, “glory to our martyrs and victory to the resistance.” Those words matter. Their echoes are chillingly familiar — Hamas itself marked this anniversary by celebrating October 7 as “a glorious day” and “a major turning point.”

That so many self-proclaimed pro-Palestine activists now condemn the U.S. proposal to immediately end the war–and, in some cases, even urge Hamas to reject it — raises two painful possibilities. Either they were never truly committed to peace, or they have decided that the suffering of Palestinian civilians is more useful as a weapon against Israel than as a reason to stop the fighting.

The Jewish community, despite claims to the contrary, knows that criticizing Israel is not inherently antisemitic. Israel’s own citizens protest their government daily, demanding change and accountability. But dismissing the rise in antisemitism as mere policing of speech about Israel is disingenuous and dangerous. Stabbing Jews in a synagogue in the U.K. is antisemitism. Throwing Molotov cocktails at demonstrators calling for the release of hostages in Boulder is antisemitism. The surge in this hatred is real, and we don’t need to parse “borderline” cases to see it.

We are working toward a moment of possibility. A fragile but genuine chance to build peace out of pain. My hope is that more of us will choose to come along. Because the only path forward — for Israelis, Palestinians, and all of us watching — is to remember that empathy is not a finite resource. It is the foundation on which peace must be built.

Sen. Dafna Michaelson Jenet is a state lawmaker who is Jewish.

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