“Things have got to change. But first, you’ve gotta get mad ... You’ve got to say, ‘I’m as mad as hell, and I’m not going to take this any more!’ ”

— Peter Finch, as broadcaster and mad prophet of the airwaves Howard Beale in Network, 1976.

Joe Killoran was perfect, literally the man in the street.

In fact, when Killoran confronted Mayor Rob Ford on Canada Day, he was exactly what Ford used to be. One lone man, fearless and furious, unconcerned with propriety, a booming voice of indignation roaring his truth, speaking for seething legions.

As he denounced Ford, the Toronto high-school teacher represented those in the city who feel — as a result of the mayor’s drug and alcohol abuse, criminal consorts and recorded racism, misogyny and homophobia — profoundly wronged.

Most protests survive in the news and public consciousness briefly, if at all. But some endure, even write history, by creating a symbol and inciting more timid but equally seething souls to action.

Rosa Parks became an icon for refusing to give up her seat on a bus. A handful of people dumping tea in Boston harbour more than 200 years ago helped create a nation.

Sometimes, the bravery of an individual or the few ignites the “power of the crowd” — incites what political scientists Peter Dauvergne and Genevieve LeBaron call in their recent book, Protest Inc , “sustained collective action with a political purpose.”

MORE FROM THESTAR.COM

The shirtless jogger on Rob Ford: Meet Joe Killoran

#Shirtlessjogger inspires online adoration

Rob Ford jeered and then cheered at Canada Day events

Mayor Rob Ford was interupted and heckled at a press conference on Tuesday morning by shirtless protesters.

The action needn’t be threatening, they write. It “can be theatrical and playful — singing in solidarity, banging pots and pans, a gay pride parade — or revolve around hunger strikes, occupying city squares ... ”

Tellingly, Dauvergne and LeBaron say many activist organizations now mimic corporations in their advocacy, fundraising, networking and courting of celebrities as a public face. To win mainstream respectability, they “use safe language and strategies.”

With his anger, Joe Killoran was the antidote to such courtesy and caution.

It turns out Howard Beale was close to the mark when he said in Network that anger had to come before change. “At the individual level, social movements are emotional movements,” wrote Prof. Manuel Castells in his 2012 book, Networks of Outrage and Hope: Social Movements in the Internet Age.

“Insurgency does not start with a program or political strategy ... the big bang of a social movement starts with the transformation of emotion into action.”

Killoran’s emotion became action. And, however unplanned, his tactics couldn’t have achieved a better effect had they been scripted by a consulting firm.

There was tremendous power in his being alone. There is little so compelling as individual acts of courage and stands on principle. Twenty-five years ago, the world was captivated and conscience-stricken by the image of one man facing down a tank on Tiananmen Square.

It’s not for nothing that the David and Goliath metaphor endures. In popular culture, from Norma Rae to Erin Brockovich, people can’t get enough of a lone person standing up to The Man.

Almost 30 years ago, the Quebec senior citizen Solange Denis faced down then-prime minister Brian Mulroney at a protest in Ottawa over a plan to de-index pensions.

“You lied to us,” she said. “You made us vote for you and then goodbye Charlie Brown’.”

Loading... Loading... Loading... Loading... Loading... Loading...

Mulroney’s PC government soon had a change of heart.

In his own Charlie Brown-moment, Killoran displayed what many wish they had — the courage to shout their outrage at the one who had caused it. His approach was loud, blunt, in-your-face. The mayor, he said, was not just unfit for office as a result of his myriad personal problems. He was “corrupt.”

Some commentators sniffed that Killoran would have had greater success if he hadn’t been shirtless. They missed the point entirely. It was the shirtlessness that made him.

Out for a jog that day and chancing on Ford, Killoran spontaneously used the street as stage. He was, almost literally, naked. Figuratively, it was a declaration of transparency. Proof was visible to all that he carried no script, was armed only with his fury.

Nudity, in fact, has long been used as a form of protest — from Doukhobors to animal rights and peace activists. It is a purer expression of the key point of protest — one demonstrated from squares across the Arab world to the Occupy movement. That is, putting one’s body on the line for a cause.

Social media may organize, but presence speaks. So loudly, in fact, that Time, in 2011, named “The Protestor” its person of the year.

Prof. Castells writes that “for a social movement to form, the emotional activation of individuals must connect to other individuals.”

Almost instantly, thanks to social media, Killoran had a brand. He was “The Shirtless Jogger.”

Just as quickly, he had a following — other citizens shedding their shirts in protest against Ford’s diminishment of his office and their city.

Soon, those he had inspired had their own name: “The Shirtless Hordes.”

And they had a slogan even simpler than “Stop the Gravy Train.” Theirs was one word. “Resign!”

This week, John Furr was among those moved to action by Killoran’s example. Furr stood behind Ford at a campaign event, clearly rattling the mayor — and stealing the day’s media attention — with constant bellows that he resign.

The 52-year-old Furr told the Star he runs a small business, has no agenda, belongs to no campaign and is simply fed up with Ford.

“As soon as I saw Joe Killoran, I knew this was the spark we needed to convince people that Ford needs to go,” Furr said.

As for Joe Killoran, he declined to be interviewed for this story. In an email, he said he was not affiliated with the Shirtless Hordes movement nor did he endorse it.

“Frankly, I’d rather not be in the news any more.”

A reasonable position. But sometimes these things take on a life of their own. In his moment’s public passion, Joe Killoran launched something that might last at least until election day in October.

And, in the lore of Canadian protest symbols, forever.

Read more about: