Gratitude Monday: This is what democracy looks like

This Monday I’m thinking that my gratitude will be filling the entire week, because I spent Saturday in downtown DC at the #WomensMarchonWashington, and I have way too many pix that remind me of how proud and grateful I am to have been one of the half a million there to serve up in a single post.

So—yes, I joined 499,999 men, women and children of every visible color, structural makeup, most economic brackets, white-collar/blue-collar/no-collar employment status, probably most belief systems, a range of physical capabilities, and all ages, marching in our nation’s capital to register our intent to resist the clearly stated plans of the Kleptocrat and his kakistocracy to give away our national and natural resources to their corporate cronies, to dismantle all social supports for the most vulnerable among us, to let loose the dogs of corruption and to turn back the clock to a time when white males ruled freely, and women and non-whites hopped to when commanded.

I did not choose this lightly, because I don’t do well in crowds and I’m not especially brave. But the closer it came to the day, the more I thought to myself, “Self—you walk for MS. You have to march for the world. When they train those satellites on Independence Avenue, they need to find your head there.” I have friends who could not be there; I needed to represent them—to literally stand up for them because they cannot.

In fact, when I considered what I might be facing, I recalled one of the hand-made signs at a Walk MS in the Valley They Call Silicon, and I screwed my courage to the sticking place.

So I tied on my walking shoes, stuffed my ID and some money (in case of bail) in my pocket and headed out.

And I am deeply thankful that I did, that I was a part of this splendid crowd, this amazing day.

From the parking lot at Pentagon City’s Fashion Centre, it started: two young women with pussy hats weren’t clear on where the Metro station was. I showed them the way. And we joined scores of pink-clad people carrying clear backpacks and signs, in the atmosphere of folks attending a music festival.

(A friend of mine described the Reston station as looking like Lilith Fair.)

We piled onto Metro cars that were already chockers—and those SRO trains kept coming basically throughout the day. But no one shoved or bitched, not even when we sat parked for some minutes outside of L’Enfant Plaza (Ground Zero for the opening rally) before the driver announced that they’d closed that station and Archives due to too many people crowding the platform, unable to get out because of crowds outside.

So we got out at Gallery Place and just started marching.

Here’s what it looked like on Seventh Street:

I was getting oriented when a rolling roar completely filled the street. And here’s what caused it:

Yes, I forgot to mention in the second graf: there were also a few dogs in the March. And a former Secretary of State.

The atmosphere was militant and yet playful. There was some street theatre, and signs with rude words (which were the focus of many Kleptocrat supporters who commented on social media), and thousands and thousands of pussy hats. (Also the cause of much pearl clutching—because exposing the children to those hats! Horrors! Ignoring completely who brought the language and image into our national idiom in the first place.)

In fact, pink was a theme—pink hats, pink capes, pink jackets, pink shoes.

There’s been some discussion that the multiple messages carried through the streets of DC (and cities and towns in every state and in countries on every continent, including Antarctica) muddled the message. Not to my way of thinking. Yeah, there were signs for Black Lives Matter, for saving the planet, for immigrants, for education—but the March was never solely about reproductive rights. That was a huge part of it, yes. But women have concerns about all those other issues and more. And as we stated again and again: women’s rights are human rights.

I have to say, this was the most polite and considerate crowd I’ve ever been in (including Easter Mass). Genuine concern for everyone, starting with the Metro ride. Yep—room for more, come on in. Bump into someone, apologies all around. I needed help trying to get across Tenth and over a chain along the curb. Many hands to steady me, and people pausing until I made it.

I’ve heard reports from others, too, about clusters of people stopping to lend first aid to those suffering medical issues, calling the EMTs and directing the flow of marchers around until the ambulances came. 

A US Park Service Police mounted patrol came to the head of my march (listen—there were so many tens of thousands of people more than expected, that rivers of protest flowed on multiple streets and flooded the National Mall; for all I know there were a dozen different "marches" on Saturday) and gave us word on which way we should go to be safe because of crowds already building up.

People walking past them thanked them again and again.

(Also—this addition was made to one of the Park Service vehicles. I’m telling you—it was a droll crowd.)

They also thanked DC cops (who were not in riot gear, and who made no arrests. At all. All day long) for being there. Ditto thanking Metro Police, who at 1530 were still having to regulate the crowds flowing in and out of Metro stations.

It was like we were all channeling our grandmothers. Many of whom were there.

There were chants, most in the higher vocal range representing the preponderance of women:

This is what democracy looks like.

And a call-and-response between men and women that played off the different registers:

Men: When they go low

Women: We go high

There was power in all of them. (Including the one that went: Tiny hands, tiny feet; all he does is tweet, tweet, tweet.)

On my journey home, walking through the Fashion Centre mall, I noticed an addition had been made to the advertisement for the “inaugural store” (actually a kiosk in the food court).

Yes, I’m glad I didn’t let my pettiness keep me away from one of the great events of this decade. And I’m honored and grateful that I walked for hours and miles, for women's rights, for human rights.