The plan had been simple.
Which is basically suspicious when more than three people are involved.
“So,” said Leni, looking around, “we meet tomorrow at ten. Same park. Banners. Bikes. No violence. No chaos.”
Silence.
“Okay,” Jamal finally said. “And now the realistic version?”
Keks sat in the middle of the room chewing on something that had once been a shoe. Protest seemed appropriate to him.
The group chat had already exploded the night before.
“Are we bringing whistles?”
“What about music?”
“Are we allowed to wear masks?”
“Does anyone have a megaphone?”
Leni stared at the phone. “I just wanted us to be visible.”
“Welcome to democracy,” said Jamal. “Visibility is always an event.”
The next morning it rained. Of course.
“When you protest, the weather is automatically against you,” said Leni, pulling her hood down further.
Still, people stood in the park. More than expected. Bicycles. Cardboard signs. Some professional. Some clearly from the kitchen table.
“NO RATING FOR PEOPLE”
“WE ARE NOT AN ALGORITHM”
“MY BACK IS NOT A START-UP”
Leni had to laugh. “Okay. That’s… creative.”
Keks wore an improvised neckerchief with felt-tip pen writing: “BARK INSTEAD OF RATING”. Nobody knew exactly who had decided that. But nobody objected.
“We should say something,” someone said nervously.
“Yes,” said Leni. “But please nothing with ‘We demand’ in the first sentence. I want to still have a pulse when we’re done.”
She stood on a park bench. Not heroic. Rather wobbly.
“Um… hi,” she began.
A few people laughed. That helped.
“We are here because we all at some point realized that they like to let us talk – but don’t like to listen when it gets concrete.”
Nods.
“We deliver food. Packages. People. Services. And sometimes we deliver ourselves along with it.”
Someone clapped. Uncertainly. Then more.
“We are not avatars,” Leni continued. “We are not a ‘user journey’. We are people with knees, backs, and very limited patience.”
Laughter. Louder now.
A man shouted: “And without bonus!”
“Oh yes,” said Leni. “Without bonus. But with rating. Always with rating.”
At the edge stood journalists. Cameras. Microphones. People who suddenly looked very interested.
“Here they come,” murmured Jamal. “Now we’re relevant.”
A reporter stepped forward. “Why are you demonstrating today?”
Leni looked at her. Briefly. Then said: “Because we are tired. And because tiredness is not a personal problem, but a structural one.”
The reporter blinked. “Can you simplify that?”
“Sure,” said Leni. “We work a lot. We earn little. And when we are sick, it’s our fault.”
That landed.
A man in a suit stopped. Looked at a sign. “But you all signed voluntarily.”
Jamal turned to him. “Voluntary is a big word when the alternative is hunger.”
The man walked on. Faster.
In between it got absurd.
Someone had brought a Bluetooth speaker and played Eye of the Tiger.
“No,” said Leni immediately. “This is a union no-go zone.”
Instead someone played old techno tracks. The protest danced briefly. Not well. But honestly.
Keks barked rhythmically. It was… surprisingly fitting.
The police came. Stood still. Watched.
An officer said: “As long as everything remains peaceful…”
“It will,” said Leni. “We are too exhausted for riots.”
Around noon a push notification appeared on several phones at once.
“Unusual activity detected. Please observe the community guidelines.”
A collective laugh went through the crowd.
“Even the algorithm is nervous,” someone said.
Leni felt something she hadn’t felt in a long time: energy. Not motivating, not toxically positive. Real.
“You know,” she said to Jamal, “this doesn’t solve anything today.”
“No,” he said. “But it shifts something.”
In the end everyone was soaked. Hoarse. Tired.
But no one was alone.
The press drove away. The police too. The app remained conspicuously silent.
At home Leni collapsed on the sofa.
Keks jumped next to her. Panted contentedly.
“Was that successful now?” Jamal asked.
Leni thought.
“We weren’t ignored,” she finally said. “That’s new.”
The phone vibrated. A new message in the group chat:
“No matter what happens – today was important.”
Leni smiled tiredly.
“Protest,” she said quietly, “is not an event.”
She looked at Keks, who was already asleep.
“But sometimes it feels like a first breath.”
And maybe that was exactly what they had needed to keep going.