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Yes, protesting can help tyrants like Trump, with its scenes of disorder. But that’s no reason to stay at home | Zoe Williams

When Donald Trump was elected the first time round, the works of the German-American philosopher Hannah Arendt flew off the shelves in the US. It wasn’t all good news – JD Vance’s Hillbilly Elegy was also enjoying a surge in popularity and Trump was, of course, still about to be president. But Arendt’s famous 1951 work, The Origins of Totalitarianism, was selling at 16 times its usual rate, which meant that by the time of the protests centred on the inauguration in January 2017, at least some of those people had read it.

Arendt’s view of popular demonstrations was complicated. She wasn’t blind to the way authoritarian rulers use public protest as an excuse for a display of physical power, embodied in the police, which turns the state into an army against its people, altering that relationship. If it’s no longer government by consent, it’s rule by force, and they have the equipment. Yet “how many people here still believe”, she wrote of Germany in the 1930s, quoting the French activist David Rousset, “that a protest has even historic importance? This scepticism is the real masterpiece of the SS. Their great accomplishment. They have corrupted all human solidarity. Here the night has fallen on the future.” It’s an elegantly drawn lose-lose situation: if you lose the will to protest, you have been “morally murdered”, but if you don’t, you play into the tyrant’s hands.

But the Women’s Marches of January 2017 didn’t spark police violence. Not a single arrest was made across the 2 million protesters gathered in New York, Washington, Chicago, Los Angeles and Seattle. Commentators wondered whether this was due to the essentially peaceable nature of women and their allies, while academics drew comparisons with the hundreds of arrests made during the Ferguson uprising of 2014 (which, of course, happened under President Obama). “Tanks and rubber bullets versus pussy-hats and high-fives” was how one scholar, Abby Harrington, described the contrast, making the case convincingly that protesters were treated differently on essentially racist grounds. It would be wrong, and actually quite sexist, to say that the women weren’t considered worthy of violent suppression because they didn’t seem serious enough. It would be wrong, too, to say that they made no impact – they were enormous, dispersed across 408 places in the US, rallying by some estimates more than 4 million Americans, and spawning protests in solidarity across seven continents, including one in Antarctica.

The demand was very broad and consequently pretty loose, however: protesters wanted “vibrant and diverse communities” recognised as “the strength of our country”. They wanted reproductive rights and tolerance and protection from violence; mutual respect; racial equality; gender equality; workers’ rights – it was a call for decency, to which the leader felt no need to respond, almost by definition, since he is not decent.

The recent US protests were sparked last Friday at about 9am, as border patrol agents massed outside a Home Depot in Paramount, a predominantly Latino area in Los Angeles. An assembly member, José Luis Solache Jr, happened to be driving past, so stopped and posted the scenes, which looked chillingly militaristic even days before the arrival of the national guard. Protesters started to arrive, not in huge numbers but with a vast purpose – to prevent what looked like an immigration raid of people trying to do their jobs. It came on the back of the arrest of a senior union official in the Fashion District, and one father arrested in front of his eight-year-old son. The message, when border guards sweep a workplace or a courtroom where people are doing regular immigration check-ins, is quite plain: this isn’t about deporting hardened criminals.

The protestrs’ demand was correlatively plain: don’t arrest our friends, neighbours or colleagues, when they pose no danger to anyone. Since then, 700 marines have been deployed to the city, and the number of national guards doubled to 4,000. The situation recalls Arendt’s later work, On Violence, in which she argues that power and violence are actually opposites – the state creates tinderbox situations when it has lost the expectation of public compliance. So if the protests were symbolic, they would be playing into the government’s hands: an abstract resistance creating justification for concrete suppression. But the protests are not symbolic – the alternative to protesting against a raid by border guards is to let the raid go ahead and lose those neighbours.

The Russian-American columnist and author M Gessen cites a distinction made in political science between faith, where you believe that justice will simply prevail, and hope, where you observe and participate. Gessen wrote in the New York Times: “You can’t take action without hope, but you also can’t have hope without taking action.” Everyone has a line over which they’d be spurred to action – there’s no one who wouldn’t lie down in front of the government van if their child were kidnapped and put inside it by masked men. So the real art of the autocratic state is not just to weaken protective institutions, but also to foster the conditions of fear and hopelessness ahead of a critical mass finding its hard limit. It’s not clear, yet, whether the repression is a deliberate spectacle in order to create that fear, or whether, conversely, it’s the accidental creation of conditions that demand action.