Sunday, January 22, 2017

The personal is political

I didn't plan on going to the Women's March. I thought about it a lot. My mom went to Washington. My friends went to Boston.
I ultimately stayed home to not miss my boys' games.
Mother's choice.
I posted feminist memes as my own virtual march instead.
It didn't satisfy; so I jumped in my car and drove to Greenfield by myself.
When I got there I saw signs of unity, prayers for peace and pink pussy hats on men, women and children at the Town Common. More than 2,000 people, a few climbing trees for a better view, heard speakers saying "Women's Rights were human rights" and they meant it.
To quote a childhood book, I found a "wandering, lost good feeling."
For a minute I forgot about the common refrain I had heard since November. You know the ones -marching - this protesting - was stupid and worthless. It won't change anything. Get over it (liberal) cry baby, he's our president.
Be careful, some even said.
So let me clear up the misunderstanding.
I didn't march against the president.
I marched for us.
I marched for the 22-year-old jogger who was dragged by her hair into the woods and emotionally gutted and violated by a man who chose to attack her for no other reason than she was a woman.
I marched for the same girl who came reeling and dazed from an emergency room after downing a "currently" legal "morning after " pill so she'd have a choice.
I marched for the mother of boys she became and her need to teach them any day, every day that a woman is a human being and not a piece of ass.
I marched because gender violence is real and misogynistic speech from a person in power matters.
I marched for me.
And I would do it again in a heartbeat.

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