Last year at this time, I was seething. I’d spent November 2016 in utter despair; I drank four glasses of alcohol on Election Night, and still went to bed cold sober, certain I’d seen the death of American democracy. Waking up on January 1st, 2017, I checked my email and received an invitation from a good friend of mine. It said, basically, “I’m going to the Women’s March in Seattle. Do you want to come?”
A protest march. I’d derided these in the past as window-dressing, just one step up from slacktivism. I’ve since rescinded that opinion, having seen that public displays of citizen discontent can get things done. When a large group of people come out onto the streets to show they’re not going to put up with the status quo, those for and against the status quo take notice for their own reasons. And just seeing that there are others angry about the way things are is a morale boost for people who might not be comfortable, otherwise, with protesting.
Besides, I’d wanted to do something ever since Trump’s “grab ‘em by the pussy” tapes were made public, with their revelations of his attempts to force himself on not just adult, unwilling women, but to spy on and harass underage girls who were contestants in the Teen Miss America pageants. So many young girls have to deal with pedophiles, men who feel entitled to their bodies whether they say ‘yes’ or refuse. The thought of a man like this becoming President made me want to walk to 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue, stride up to the Orange Shitgibbon, and smack him in the teeth with a wrench.
So I told my friend, A’mee, “Hell yes! I’ll meet you and we’ll travel there together.”
A’mee brought her 9-year-old daughter, and—along with another friend, Karin—we participated in the Seattle Women’s March on January 21, 2017. And it was one of the most emotionally uplifting days of my life. From Judkins Park to Westlake Center, I saw women of all ages and ethnic groups participating. I listened to and laughed with a group of 20-somethings who were reciting Beyonce lyrics and arguing who would have been marching with us, Beyonce or Katy Perry. (Beyonce won.) There were many Gen-Xers like A’mee and myself, some with their children in tow; I saw quite a few more men than I expected, spouses and fathers determined to stand up with the women they loved. More than a few carried signs with Hillary Clinton’s famous quote: “Women’s rights are human rights.” And the older women that were there, carrying signs that (among others) read, “I Can’t Believe We Still Have To Protest This Shit,” ranged from comfortable-looking Seattleites in puffy coats to well-made-up ladies who looked like the Red Hat Brigade had changed over to Pink Pussy Hats.
It was beautiful. I had many moments where I experienced emotional whiplash going from laughter to rage to tears. On the one hand, I couldn’t believe Trump could have won the election; surely western Washington didn’t have a monopoly on informed voters? (Well, no. Hillary won the popular vote, but oh, oh, oh, that Electoral College . . . so significant, so maleficent!) On the other hand, I was giddy from seeing the faces around me and reading stories of the marches across the country — Los Angeles, Boston, D.C.--and hearing from my friends in those areas who were equally gobsmacked and uplifted.
Now it’s coming up on the one-year anniversary, and once again there’ll be a Women’s March. A’mee and I will go once again, with her little girl and our mutual friend Karin, and we’ll look forward to seeing as many people, if not more, in Seattle. I hope to keep in contact with my friends in D.C., Atlanta, Boston, and Portland on that day, sharing pictures of the men and women and children marching with us. I will even wear the hat I’ve got on in the picture, the one several ladies referred to, laughingly, as “the Persian pussy hat.” I may even find a nice pantsuit to wear under the vintage Swedish army overcoat I have on there, too.
Just want to say that I hope to see some of you there as well. If you recognize me, yell, “Hey, Gemina!” and wave. I’ll wave back.
Hello, 2018. Let’s make this a thing! Meow!