Op-Ed: A celebration of like-minded folks
I vividly recall when the idea for the Women’s March began in a not-so-secret Facebook group, Pantsuit Nation, a day after the election. Its goal and date not set, we discussed the importance of planning a large gathering to demonstrate that we are millions of women, united and concerned about our future.
Dates were debated, either the day the Electoral College was to vote or Inauguration Day. Someone created a Facebook event page, receiving immense support overnight. When many expressed an inability to travel to D.C. on inauguration weekend, “sister” marches were planned in major cities. The mission of the marches was to “stand together in solidarity for the protection of our rights, our safety, our health and our families. ...”
Official mission aside, each of us had our own reason for participating in this event. Having marched the weekend after the election, I had already shouted and spent my election sorrow. At the Women’s March, I would not lament election day. This would be our chance to demonstrate to our elected officials, local, state and federal, that we are millions of strong, proud, united women. Women who will not tolerate any action that will jeopardize our rights, our liberties, our families or our dignity. We will not shrink back, we will not look away and we will speak up.
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I knew marching would also be an important lesson for my daughters — to not only see democracy in action, but be an active participant. To learn they have a voice and must stand up for themselves, speak up for what they believe in and never tolerate injustice. Having marched before, I knew they would take comfort in knowing so many share the same concerns. We all fear losing access to medical care, fear others making decisions about our bodies, fear the rise of hate crimes, suppression of free speech, and seeing minority groups disenfranchised. I knew standing among thousands of women would inspire, encourage and empower us to action. Rain or shine, nagging fears of safety aside, we would march.
On the day before the march, we headed to an art store for sign-making supplies, finding a very large number of shoppers doing the same. The feeling of solidarity and instant friendship among shoppers was heartwarming. Supplies in hand, we spent hours painting words reflecting our greatest concerns and fears. “Stand Up, Speak Up, Rise Up!” “Hear me ROAR!” “My Body, My Choice, My Right.”
On Saturday, the morning of the event, excited to march, even the sluggish teenager popped out of bed. Paint on face, ICE on hands, we drove to downtown L.A. thankful for a break from the storms, surely a sign of solidarity from above. Arriving minutes after 9 a.m., we found the crowd had already spilled out into the streets surrounding Pershing Square. Streets were densely packed with women and men, young and old, of all colors and races. The crowd was cheerful and energized. Too far from the speakers to hear them, we eagerly waited for movement to indicate the march had begun. Entertained by the many clever signs, people chatted and made new friends.
Finally the march began, more of a crawl at first, but soon we moved forward with a spring in our step. We joined in chants, sometimes in song, as we made our way toward City Hall. Arriving at City Hall in an hour, it was clear the speakers had begun and the crowd was too large for us to hear what was being said. Yet we stayed, talked and simply enjoyed being a part of this movement. This was not an angry protest. This was a gathering of like-minded folks, concerned yet peaceful. We strolled back to the parking lot, looking at photos of marches across the world, proud and glad to have been a part of history in the making. I’m hoping this day will inspire more involvement, more volunteers and more voters.
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PARIS COHEN is a La Cañada Flintridge resident. She can be reached at paris@jpcohen.com.