On Nov. 5, I woke up to the shocking realization that Donald Trump had prevailed and received the majority of electoral votes. He would be the 45th President of the United States.
My very first thought was, “We need to go march in Washington so that there is no doubt in our new president’s mind that the women of this country will not allow him to strip us of our rights or to trample on the rights of equality for all Americans.”
We need to move forward and not backwards. It wasn’t long before social media blew up. Everyone had the same thought I did! My daughter and I designed some signs, found a bus and off we went.
When our bus arrived in a suburb of Washington DC on Inauguration day morning, two police officers standing by the curb noticed our signs and told us to be careful. “Do you think it will be bad?” I asked. “It’s already bad,” the police woman responded.
I later learned that some anti-Trump demonstrators had been breaking shop windows and had set fire to a limousine. The police had responded with pepper spray and tear gas and there were dozens of arrests. This was upsetting to me. Violence is counterproductive and wrong and I knew that this would provide Trump supporters a reason to muddle our message of peaceful resistance. I thanked the police for their work in keeping everyone safe and they looked genuinely appreciative of my comment. I think we take our police for granted too much.
To bide our time before the Women’s March, we took a walk in suburban Tacoma Park and stopped in a cafe. Watching the large screen t.v. showing the inauguration, I was shocked and saddened by the sea of empty seats there. Our new president and first lady were walking down the parade route and I cringed when I saw virtually no one on the side of the roads. As they walked, the number of people increased but nonetheless, I felt heartsick for our country.
We listened to the swearing-in and the president’s speech on the radio. He sounded rather presidential; however, his message was the same — “Our country is a disaster and I alone can rescue you.”
The day of the march, we encountered a smattering of marchers heading, like us to the train station. The train filled up at every stop with the pink, knit-hatted passengers. There were women of all ages decked out with signs and creative messaging on their person. One woman was completely bare-chested with duct tape covering her nipples which included some slogan. The mood was light and giddy.
I asked to take pictures of some people and everyone gladly obliged. We exited the train with the large pink mob but as we approached 4th Street, the spaces between us and our fellow pink marchers gradually diminished. Eventually, we could no longer progress as there was a wall of people before us with many filing behind us.
We stood in the crowd waiting for the rally to begin and amused ourselves by reading signs, taking pictures, chatting with others and joining in rallying chants: “This is what democracy looks like!”
Many of the signs were poignant such as, “Planned Parenthood found my cancer;” and others were just funny, such as, “I know this is all about love but I hate him,” or “Our rights are not up for grabs and neither are we;” “Feminism — back by popular demand” and “Cinnamon rolls, not gender roles.”
We were curious about a group of women next to us who carried signs that said “Sex Workers need Health Insurance.” The empowering signs included “Women’s Rights are Human Rights” and a little girl on the shoulders of her dad held a colorful, hand-written sign, “I am a girl. I am smart. I am strong. I can do anything. Peace on Earth”
We stood in this tightly knit crowd for three hours listening to the speakers — Gloria Steinem, Van Jones, Scarlett Johansson, Michael Moore, Kirsten Gillibrand, America Ferrara and many more. There were women and men from all over the U.S. all gathered in a spirit of united, solidarity and determination.
When a little girl named Sophie Cruz took the stage in the company of her family and described in English and then in Spanish the oppression of her people, we all cried. She couldn’t have been more than 9-years-old but she was full of passion, conviction and love. Hope, determination and resilience laced every speech. Many speakers gave specific instructions to the crowd on how to take our united voices into action. Michael Moore had the crowd repeat the phone number for congress.
The March was to begin at 1 p.m. but little did we know at the time that the official march had been cancelled because there were entirely too many people — there was no where we could march! By 3 p.m., we, like many around us were very tired and hangry. But even in a group of thousands of wary women, the mood remained positive and determined. We decided to try to move to the front of the crowd to start marching sooner.
The crowds seemed never-ending as we continued to seek out a pocket of space. Eventually, we climbed a wall on the side of the mall and there, we were able to see that the streets were packed as far as the eye could see in all directions. We were indeed part of making history and after the last few months of feeling defeated, we felt the strong hands of America reassuring us that we are not alone and we are not giving up. The power is with the people.
By the time we reached the train station, we were tired, hungry and so glad that we had come.
The Women’s March on Washington may not have been a march, but it was a lovely and powerful reunion, full of positive and encouraging energy. I was not surprised to learn that despite the hoards of participants, there wasn’t a single incident of violence at the Women’s March.
This election has sent strong shock waves through many communities — ones who will definitely suffer under the promised Trump policies. Words are powerful and the Leader of the Free World has used his carelessly to threaten our fellow Americans. Fortunately, this has led so many people around the country to understand that we do not have the luxury of assuming that our system will work without our participation.
As we left the train station at our destination after the march, there was a young man, woman and small child standing outside, facing all the people streaming out. The child held a hand-written sign “Thank you for marching for us.” This is why I went.
