A choice is made

I have this one friend. With each year, as I’ve come to know her more and more, I’ve come to know myself, too. Taking her lead, I’ve come to stand unapologetically within myself. While we are different in many ways, we are also very similar in one very important way. We are curious. Whether innate or learned from our families, we crave understanding of ourselves, of our civic and anthropologic history, of broad and niche perspectives. As kindred spirits in this regard, we also share similar politics and a fiery passion for it.

We talked about politics leading up to the primaries. We talked about politics as we cast our vote in the primaries. Literally. As I waited in my precinct line to cast my vote, she stood beside me, giving me one last, eloquent elevator pitch for her preferred candidate. We confidently discussed politics in the general election, and we commiserated after the devastating election results were realized. Leading up to the inauguration, we were both feeling helpless and horrified. So we did something. Like the millions of other women, men and children who marched, I couldn’t have done it without “her.” Whoever that “her” may be.

On Friday, January 20 at 10:45 a.m., we decided to hop on a 1:30 p.m. flight from Aspen/Pitkin County Airport to Denver and Denver to D.C.

I will forever be grateful for my dear friend who extended her hand to me and lifted me to my true power. It warms my heart to think of the countless other stories like ours. One by one, friendship by friendship, bond by bond, family by family, we brought each other together.

A march begins

We stayed in a hotel near McPherson Square, which is within walking distance to the National Mall. As we left our hotel around 10:30 a.m., we were immediately met with small groups of pink pussy hats, all heading in the same direction. So we followed.

Two blocks go by, and more pink hats trickle in from every direction. Two more blocks, and the sidewalks are starting to get New York City “rush-hour” crowded. One more, and we’re now walking in the middle of the street because there are so many people.

A movement assembles

As we made our way to the National Mall along F Street, we passed Ford’s Theater, and I was reminded of how we must be willing to put it all on the line for what is right. Every generation has its day and this was shaping up to be ours.

I started to notice signs. Here are some that stood out:

“Men of quality do not fear equality.”

“Girls just want to have fundamental rights.”

“Don’t tread on me.”

“Oppression of one is the oppression of all.”

“I wish my uterus shot out bullets, so it wouldn’t be so regulated.”

As we rounded the corner onto 7th Street—or what I think is 7th Street after consulting a map post-march—the terrain sloped downward before us, providing us with a visual of the crowd’s length. The pink-dotted crowded stretch as the far as the eye could see and it was one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen.

Within another 10 minutes, we had arrived at the National Mall. People were everywhere. Not just women, people. A great deal of men and boys were there and many of them didn’t have a women or girl in tow. I was proud to witness this and proud to call them countrymen, as they truly understood the meaning of equality.

As one of them, I was also proud to witness fierce, angry women of all ages, who, at that point, were just beginning their clever and poignant chants, which would last for hours to come.

Here are some of the stand-out chants:

“When women’s rights are under attack, what do we do? STAND UP! FIGHT BACK!”

“No hate. No fear. Everyone is welcome here.”

“When they go low. We go high.”

“Can’t build wall. Hands too small.”

“We want a leader not a creepy tweeter.”

In fact, there were so many people in the National Mall, that one struggled to see or hear the rally speakers even on one of the many jumbotrons and large speakers spread throughout the Mall. After attempting to find a good vantage point for nearly 1.5 hours, and hitting walls of people, my friend and I paused. In any other situation, this would frustrate both of us, but we decided then and there that, for today, this was a good problem to have. It reaffirmed our connection to why we were there. We needed to be surrounded by compassionate, like-minded people who felt compelled to exercise one of our most important Constitutional rights.

We decided we’d keep moving around and just check out the crowds. Eventually we ended up at “The Castle” Smithsonian and, behind it, discovered a spot where we could more easily hear the rally speakers. Unfortunately, for the Smithsonian landscapers, it happened to be along a wrought-iron fence in the middle of a garden. By popping our heads through the rungs, were were able to hear and somewhat see a jumbotron. We were just in time to hear Scarlett Johansen and Sybrina Fulton, Trayvon Martin’s mother, speak. We heard Janelle Monae perform. All the words and music were rousing and aspiring, but nothing compared to simply being amongst a powerful, yet peaceful crowd.

Before long it was time to march.

The march to the White House

We made our way to Independence Avenue, which was the official route according to my ever-prepared companion. As we filed into the closed street, streaming with women, men and children of all ages and backgrounds, another wave of comfort hit me. The physicality of coming together, of seeing that stranger’s face who will also not stay quiet reaffirms the most basic legitimacy of democracy’s power.

As we began the official march, we were crooned by a petulant, angry Madonna, who’s music and image came to us over one of the jumbotrons placed along Independence.

Soon, the march rounded to 14th Street, which brought us right next to the Washington Monument. The knoll the monument sits atop provided another opportunity to see the volume and breadth of the crowd. Much like ants, pink pussy hats were moving about the hill in every direction.

We soon came upon the gorgeous, new National Museum of African American History and Culture, which sits just next to the monument. Sitting on a platform in front of the monstrous, metal-clad building was a small Asian American boy holding a sign that said, “Women’s Rights Matter.” It was a beautiful living example of our best: respect and reverence for our differences, our struggles, and acknowledgement that we’re also one.

After rounding onto Constitution Avenue, we soon arrived at the White House lawn. The crowds spread out a bit now and began a purposeful march towards the White House. Here, we experienced one of the only opposition encounters of the entire day, a man holding a sign that said “Guns saves lives.” A male marcher respectfully and briefly engaged, saying “Thank you for being here, but I think you should re-examine the statistics.”

The marchers were still very much enlivened, chanting loudly and holding their messages high, likely in hopes that President Trump would hear.

Thinking the demonstration was now over, we strolled with the moving bodies along 15th Street, which was in the general direction of our hotel.  Our energy was fading, as it was now 4:30 p.m. and we had been on our feet since 10:30 a.m. Along 15th, we found ourselves in the midst of a large, outlying march. Apparently, due to the sheer volume of the march, a multitude of periphery marches closed down much of D.C. for the entire day. The narrower streets and tall buildings enhanced the chants’ effectiveness and further electrified the crowd. And despite my aching feet, I, too, was still inspired to recite the catchy rhymes.

“Welcome to your first day, we will not go away.”

Serendipitously, I looked up at the beautiful Department of Treasury building to discover a banner image of Harriet Tubman on the $20.

It was the perfect cap on the march.

Post-protest musings

I’ve had a thought, not a new one, but one that has allowed me in the days following the march to understand exactly why so many of us ascended on D.C. and in 600 sister cities across seven continents. We’re at the beginning of a war between facts, data, statistics and proven governing establishments and feelings, fear, prejudice and greed. John Adams, the legal mind behind the Declaration of Independence and major aspects of the Constitution, intended for a America to be a land of laws, not men.

Simply put, we, as a society, have established time and time again, that laws and policies promoting equal rights and the absence of oppressions ensure individual success. What could be more American can that? The embraced refugee or the immigrant with equal rights and access have a better chance to positively impact the future through their own volition or through their offspring. Abandonment of foreign suffering will only lead to more global chaos and more need for intervention, either financially or militarily. The woman who has easy, cheap access to reproductive care and contraception has choices. She can choose to forego motherhood entirely and do as she pleases with her life. This is true American liberty. She can also choose to have the right number of children for her body, her family and her financial situation, so they can be raised to be productive citizens. The right laws provide stepping stones to individual, national and global success. These concepts of equality have been proven, both in the happiness of its beneficiaries and statistically.

We will NOT and CANNOT go backwards!

What’s next?

Take action with the Women’s March “10 Actions/100 Days.” Create a local Facebook group that focuses on these actions, but goes further and applies actions relevant to local and state issues.

Add your Senators‘ office number to your contacts (and encourage like-minded friends, family and colleagues to do the same). Former government workers have indicated that your calls must be taken and this can really affect the office’s ability to function, while an email or letter can easily be overlooked.

Be sure you’re reading, supporting and sharing long-standing trusted news sources, like The New York Times, The Washington Post, VICE News, BBC, PBS and NPR.