The Power and Responsibility of the Parade

Events create memories. Some shape identity. Others shape ideology.

Tomorrow, tanks will roll down Constitution Avenue and military jets will streak overhead. The parade has drawn both patriotic fanfare and public scrutiny, with critics questioning the symbolism and timing of such a display. Americans will witness a show of power in the form of a newly minted military parade rarely done in U.S. history for a reason, officially held to celebrate the 250th anniversary of the U.S. Army—but one that also happens to coincide with Donald Trump’s birthday.

As someone who holds deep respect for the institution of the military and the service of our armed forces, I believe there are better ways to honor that legacy than through a display of force in the form of a military parade—something that, like many Americans, I’m not entirely comfortable with.

This isn’t just about politics. It’s about production. I am writing this from the point of view of someone who understands the power of gathering and the power of event organizers who execute profound events.

Donald Trump—love him or loathe him—may not be the architect of every move, but he is the frontman of a movement that deeply understands the power of spectacle. As a New Yorker, I saw his skill up close throughout the 1990s. At the Learning Annex Real Estate & Wealth Expo at the Javits Center, he appeared as a headliner alongside figures like Tony Robbins and Barbara Corcoran. Trump commanded a record-breaking $1.5 million fee and packed the venue with attendees eager to get close to him and absorb what he symbolized. According to Barron’s, adding "The Donald" to these events transformed them into "revival meetings"—opportunities, as they put it, to "touch the very hem of the Anointed One’s raiment." He instinctively grasps the alchemy of drama, timing, music, symbols, and visual pageantry—and he is a master of the transmission of intimacy, even if it’s manufactured for manipulation. That illusion of closeness, of personal access, has always been one of his greatest tools. He knows how to gather an audience and make them feel something visceral. The problem isn’t the form. It’s the intention—and what that performance is designed to normalize or glorify. That same energy—part spectacle, part pseudo-intimacy—now fuels his political rallies, turning them into staged emotional touchpoints as much as policy platforms.

Event organizing is one of the master tools of political leadership. The ability to gather people, craft narrative space, and engineer emotional resonance is not a soft skill—it’s a strategic one. Leaders who understand this wield enormous power. Leaders who don’t are often outmaneuvered by those who do. As event professionals, we must recognize the potency of what we do—not just for brands and conferences, but for democracies.

Parades, historically, have always walked a fine line. They can elevate communities, honor shared values, and create unforgettable moments of joy. But that same structure—the route, the uniforms, the music, the rows of spectators—can be weaponized. Authoritarian regimes have long used parades to project might and suppress dissent. The aesthetics are the same, but the neurochemical response they provoke—what neuroscientists call a limbic surge—is manipulated toward fear, obedience, and reverence for power.

Representation of what it was like to be at the Kennedy horse drawn carriage in November 1963

I know how powerful these moments can be—because one imprinted itself into my memory more than sixty years ago. In 1963, I stood on the sidewalk as a young boy in Washington, D.C., as President John F. Kennedy’s casket was taken from the White House to the Capitol. It was a solemn, somber procession—a moment filled with reverence and grief. As the flag-draped body passed in front of me, a nearby transistor radio suddenly crackled with the news: Jack Ruby had just shot Lee Harvey Oswald. That one moment—blending shock, sorrow, and spectacle—burned itself into my developing memory.

That moment is etched into my memory. It shaped how I understood grief, power, and history.

Neuroscientists refer to experiences like that as flashbulb memories—emotionally charged moments that imprint themselves onto the brain, particularly during childhood, when neuroplasticity is at its peak. These memories form fast and deep. They’re not stored like facts, but like feelings—etched into us as architecture for belief.

This is why mass events aren’t just symbolic. They’re neurological mechanisms. Designed gatherings have the power to wire people toward empathy, belonging, and connection—or toward obedience, fear, and tribal allegiance. The brain doesn’t care whether a parade is sacred or cynical. It cares how it feels.

Now imagine a young child today, standing with their parents along Constitution Avenue, watching tanks roll by and soldiers salute a civilian leader whose role in one of the most turbulent moments in recent American history remains deeply polarizing. What will that child internalize about leadership, loyalty, and what America means?

As event organizers, we possess powerful tools. From campaign rallies to tech conferences, the architecture of emotion is being engineered in real time—by people like us. Tools that can craft belonging, elevate civic values—or, if used irresponsibly, condition and manipulate. The line between impact and indoctrination can be dangerously thin. And that's why how we design these moments—and who we design them for—matters now more than ever.

This is not hyperbole—it’s neuroscience. Repeated exposure to emotionally charged, highly structured spectacles—especially those that associate fear with reverence—can reinforce authoritarian conditioning. This is the playbook of cults and strongmen alike. From Hitler’s Nuremberg rallies to North Korea’s synchronized military marches, spectacle becomes ideology. The attendees may think they are watching a performance; in reality, they are absorbing a belief system.

From Mao to the Moonies: A Field Guide to Emotional Reeducation

During the Chinese Cultural Revolution, Mao Zedong didn’t just rule through policy—he ruled through production. Mass events were crafted with the explicit purpose of reshaping public identity. There were manuals, loyalty rituals, and emotional calibrations applied to millions. Children were taught to chant slogans, perform synchronized dances, and report on their families. The goal wasn’t just unity—it was neurological imprinting.

This playbook has been emulated by modern cults and regimes ever since. The Unification Church (the Moonies), Jonestown, and even some populist rallies today borrow from Mao’s choreography: control the sounds, the symbols, the space—and you control the mind.

Events are among the most potent forms of brainwashing because they collapse narrative, spectacle, identity, and emotion into a single shared experience.

As the founder of GatheringPoint.news, I’ve spent a lifetime studying how people come together. Events are our modern campfires. They’re where we share meaning, spark imagination, and forge memory. But like fire itself, events can warm or burn. When designed responsibly, they uplift. When orchestrated with ego and exclusion, they divide.

This isn’t about canceling parades. It’s about confronting how easily their power can be misused. The tools of event production—sound, timing, symbolism, emotional architecture—are the very same tools we use every day in our industry. But with the wrong intent, those same tools can become instruments of manipulation and memory distortion. That’s why we need to ask ourselves: What are we reinforcing? What are we designing people to believe?

Let us continue to gather, to celebrate, to march. But let us do so with the humility of history, the precision of neuroscience, and the moral clarity of those who understand that when we build the stage, we shape the story—and sometimes, the future.

Let history show that on June 14, 2025, America learned something not just about power—but about production. Not just about patriotism—but about programming. The question is: what story are we scripting next?