Every member of our little family-- and a good showing of our relatives, too-- participated in the Women's March on Saturday. We were in Cleveland, in Seneca Falls, and in Washington DC. We marched and chanted and held up our signs along with over 3 million others, voicing our dissent and our hopes for the future.
Because this is what democracy looks like.
Solidarity and diversity. Inspiring numbers and joyful togetherness in the midst of a dark and despairing time. In DC, there were too many marchers to actually march-- the route was full before it started. So, we took to other streets instead. Reports vary from 500,000 to 1.3 million; either way I can vouch for the fact that everywhere we went, all day, it was a sea of pink hats and protest signs and like-minded, passionate, kind people. In Cleveland the sun shone on 15,000 marchers who listened to music and climbed on birds together afterwards. In Seneca Falls, three generations of Morehouses walked alongside the spirits of the suffragettes.
There were sister marches on every continent and in nearly every state. And there was not one arrest made, no violent disruptions, just people coming together to raise their voices in support of other people. There were so many diverse causes represented, we couldn't even get a consistent chant to take hold. But the common thread was human decency. Caring about other humans, and their liberties, be it in the guise of worker's rights, reproductive freedom, or standing with Standing Rock. It was so amazing to be a part of something so much bigger than myself. I am so proud of all of Us.
I traveled by charter to bus to DC, an impromptu decision made in the weary post-election haze, and it worked out remarkably well. My friends and I were so prepared-- first aid kits and bandanas and no contacts in case of tear gas... and we didn't need a bit of it. The biggest hardship I had to endure was sleeping two nights in a bus seat. It was an easy introduction to protest, indeed. And a very small price to pay for a respite of intense joy. I went ahead and let myself be really, really happy on Saturday. I jumped in and loved every single minute of it. (Except maybe that minute of really low blood sugar when we collapsed in front of that synagogue and didn't know what to do. But then we got coffee so it was OK). I wanted to just stay forever in that city -- and by that I don't mean Washington. I mean the city WE created, the place where every stranger was an immediate friend and we all moved and cheered as one. The place where you could set a "sound wave" in motion by cheering madly, and know the group of marchers across the street would just join in. I do love me a nice, safe bubble, and on Saturday my bubble was half a million strong. My Facebook feed was all March, all the time. My text messages lit up with pictures of my sunlit, brave, marching children. I had a terrific dinner and drinks with old college friends and ended the evening with riotous laughters over escalators and selfies on garage roofs with two amazing ladies. The day took my breath away and totally wore me out and was awesome.
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| We ate dinner at Busboys and Poets, a great spot which is a known liberal hangout all the time-- and even more so on Saturday. The energy in the place!!! And great poetry in the menu...! |
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| The view from the top of the parking garage.... |
If this is activism, sign me up.
Yesterday, I rested. Because sleeping on a bus is a young woman's game! Oy.
Today, still a little sleep deprived, I grappled with the backlash. People calling the Marchers a bunch of whiners. Entitled suburbanites having a girls day out. Racists. Litterers. Part of the problem. I felt guilty for a bit, for enjoying March Day so very much. For being a privileged white lady. For not doing enough before and then complaining after. I felt guilty for feeling elated.
But only for a little bit. Because I am allowed to feel joy. And because I know that we, the Marchers, are far from perfect- but we are far from the problem, too. We ARE on the side of love and the side of progress and the right side of history. And I fully plan to take the joy I felt on Saturday and channel it into more action. To show up whenever I can-- not just at the Marches where everyone does (in fact) look just like me. But anywhere my presence, my one voice, can add strength to the cause.
And I will keep signing petitions and making phone calls and standing up for humans any chance I get. Because Saturday was historic and amazing and so much bigger than expected-- and it needs to be just the start of something even bigger, if we are to have any hope for change.
March on.
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