Friday night, I ended up working late. So, I didn’t have time to go home and grab a bag or anything (like I thought I would)… I mean, I almost packed before work. I just didn’t think I’d be getting out at 1am.
So, I went in the clothes I had figuring I could get through a crazy exciting/full weekend. (I mean, stores exist, right?)
I rushed out of work close to 1am, and got to the Port Authority – which was packed with people going down to DC.
One of the Greyhound workers was telling me that apparently they have 3 buses that usually do that route through the night (on a normal tonight). Tonight? Over 20.
We all filled the buses and went on our way.
Once I got to DC, there were people all over Union Station at such an early time of morning/night. It was so cool to see people on the ground making signs and new friends. I liked hearing empowering conversations and feeling great energy.
I headed to my friend Fareed’s house, and on the way I stopped and bought a couple of women’s marches shirts. (See? I didn’t need to pack clothes after all! :-))
I went and took and quick shower, and dropped off my bag (because of all the rules of the march of not being allowed to have a bag with you unless it was very small or see-through, etc.).
I didn’t realize that he and his roommates and gotten a whole group together. It was so cute seeing everybody in the morning milling about his house, looking out for each other. People packed each other snack bags and made signs for themselves and each other. I gave Sheeva (Fareed’s sister) on of my shirts.
A bunch of us wrote in sharpie on our arms the phone number of a place that could give legal help if we were arrested… I did it, but thought it was a wee bit silly of an idea because:
a) I couldn’t imagine being arrested for peacefully protesting.
b) I could only imagine the police being super helpful if I were arrested.
…And that means I’m super privileged. And I guess I was slightly worried that if I wrote the number on my arm, I’d be looking ridiculous, like someone knowing she’s privileged taking extra steps to “look like a protestor.”
But since I really didn’t know what was gonna go down, I wrote the number on my arm.
Anyway, we went out and honestly kinda sorta had no idea where we needed to go (ish). I mean, my friends are super knowledgeable about DC. But it just felt like once we got to where we thought we needed to go it was so crowded that nobody could see the monitor anyway, so we just kept going around to different places.
And nobody seemed to truly be able to tell when the march actually started – since we couldn’t see or hear a monitor. And then we saw some people going down some streets chanting. So, like, is that chanting and marching just happening? …Or, is the march officially starting and all?
(Eventually we did make it to a monitor where we could see and hear, and we saw the last speaker. And then went forward for the official march part.)
It was amazing to see so many fantastic signs and outfits.
And it was really cool to have so many men there being truly supportive with incredible signs, and chanting and all of that. I know that it’s so annoying when people praise the men too much for a march put on by women… But when a group of people from the group doing the oppressing comes out to support the oppressed group and stand alongside with them… It was special. And helpful. And I appreciated it. And I loved hearing a sea of mean around me as the chant, “Her body, her choice” (echo) “My body, my choice” happened.
It was a really magical day and I am so honored that I got to be there for a part of history.Now, I just need to get one of those pink hats!