It rained on our parade

January 21, 2017 The Women’s March on Washington

 

It's amazing what you can do with an art degree and a roll of duct tape.

At first I was a bit disappointed that I couldn’t find affordable transportation to attend the Women’s March on Washington in D.C. When I saw that a local march was planned here in Charleston, S.C. I thought, “Well, there will probably be a couple hundred people milling around Marion Square. I will drive down there and join them. Try to get their numbers up.”

So, I followed the WMOW Charleston facebook event page and my attitude changed. The shift occurred when I felt I might better serve my community by staying in town. Yes, it would feel amazing to be in D.C., and I surely wanted to swell the ranks with the high hopes of creating a greater turnout than the one for Trump’s inauguration.  By staying here, I could possibly encourage more attendance, and at the very least be visible to the younger women I know. Women who may not have heard of Gloria Steinem. Women who think “feminist’ is a dirty word. As the days drew closer to the event, the excitement became palpable, the anticipated attendance grew. It also became evident that it was going to rain on Saturday. Rain is so common here, that rain boots are a fashion statement. Would the weather reduce our numbers, though?

 

Ready to start

Peace sign made, raincoat packed, I was ready to pick up my friend, Kelly, and head downtown. For the first time ever, we were excited to see heavy traffic. What a good sign. And it did start to rain, as soon as we got out of the car. Yet, more and more people kept showing up. Walking, on bicycles; one tourist hopped out of a hotel shuttle and told us she didn’t know there was a march here until 2 hours earlier, when she saw it on the news. There were men alone and men with their families. There were babies in strollers and grandmothers in wheel chairs.

Proud Papa

And they came. More and more joined our ranks. Cars drove by with people beeping and hanging out the window, cheering us on. Saturday workers came out on their steps and cheered us. Kelly led us in chants and cheers. People joined in, and wave after wave of voices rose along the march route. The atmosphere was filled with love, and excitement, and mostly hope. Everyone asking, Where are you from?” “Why are you marching?”

 

Sums it up perfectly

By the time we arrived at our destination, Brittlebank Park, we numbered close to 3,000. Being the social media junkie I am, I started checking feeds and was shocked to read that nearly 600 marches were taking place across the country. Every time I checked, there were videos from other countries. And then I cried. It’s not just the old hippies, and the hard-core feminists, and the hipsters. People of every race, gender, age, socio-economic station is coming out, being seen, being heard, being counted. I was high and so was everyone else. There were speakers and poets on stage and everyone listed with interest and respect. And the signs! Good Lord the signs reflected the diversity and creativity of our nation.

 

People were exchanging ideas and ways to stay connected, not just to each other but with causes we believe in and support strongly. That night we were each left with something we have not felt about our country and our politics and our future for a long time: hope.

A break in the rain by the time we reached Brittlebank Park

And the next morning, when we rose in our emotional high, it rained again. This time it rained all over the world, all over social media. Those not in attendance, started raining on our parade. From private citizens to a Mississippi Congressman. Marginalizing us. Belittling us. Making our high come crashing down. The most shocking and painful slams came from other women.

It is a conscious and challenging choice to respond only with love and patience. We must remember when people strike out; it is out of fear, misunderstanding, and not being informed.

To the young woman who posted “The Women’s March does not represent all women.” I say, “Ultimately it will. Because when you don't stand up for yourself or for others, we will still stand up for you. Even when you disagree with us. Because that is what love and compassion is about.”

To the woman who posted the photograph of female soldiers with the caption, Here are the REAL women who march for our rights, I respond, “Glad the Women's March inspired you to post this photo of heroines who deserve our respect and gratitude. Let's all remember, we cannot lift each other up, if we put one another down.”

And that is what I want to leave you with today: