Thoughts From the Women's March

The sentry of democracy in action is a young black woman with a pink hat and glasses, calling out hope from the top of a tree. In knee high pink socks, athletic shorts, and tennis shoes, she stands at the ready, directing the people to motion. She is a profound symbol of what brought us all here and we cheer her, but all the while she is perfectly normal, waving off our chants with an abashed laugh and announcing the next update with candor and wit. Tree Girl, this young woman supported by the strong empty branches of winter on the National Mall side of the Air and Space Museum, gives me hope.

On Friday, I made this video:

Yes, it's a little bit preachy and yes, it's a little more Bible-heavy than you want in what is ostensibly an ecumenical if not secular setting, but it expresses my hopes and fears and fights using the primary vocabulary I have available and I won't apologize for that. I am more satisfied with the words I chose to speak in this video than I ever have been before. Near the end, I talk about why I marched in the Women's March on Washington today: to make sure that the voices that haven't been heard are heard. That's a cut from a former version of the script. Originally, I said that I was marching to begin the process of making the unheard heard.

Because, as a former Obama staffer said better than I ever could, today's march should be a warmup for the real work ahead. This march, these marches on every continent around the world, should be a springboard into activism and advocacy, into concrete things you can do to continue making your representative government represent you. This march should inspire people to run for office so that the government of the people, by the people, for the people reflects the people. Now that we have made sure that women, who were so disrespected by this past election, have had their value affirmed, it's time to look to every other underrepresented and under-respected groups of people in this country, to those who had to make their voices heard at Standing Rock and to those embroiled in our ridiculous prison system, to immigrants and single mothers, to underpaid workers, to undereducated students, to people of every color and creed. It's time to focus on the others victimized by the presidential race, to stand with our Muslim brothers and sisters in particular, to again be willing to put our bodies on the line when those who do not love as well as they should begin to take rights away from the most vulnerable among us. These marches must be a first lap around the track in preparation for the marathon ahead.

There were wonderful moments of hope today. There was such kindness among the people who gathered on Independence, and the National Mall, and for streets around. There were generations of women who assembled together to raise their voices, waves of cheers sweeping forward through the collected crowd. There were smart and cutting signs. There was unrepentant sass and acknowledgement of shared difficulties. From the daughter who finally caught up to the rest of her family with a yell of "Mom!" that made half the crowd's heads turn to the five-year-old best friends dancing along to the protest music while their mothers smiled, there were beautiful human moments among the masses. I felt such a jolt of excitement, a feeling that reached deep into my soul, walking down Independence at the beginning of the day, seeing signs that pleaded for inclusion and love. I don't want to minimize any of that. I will honestly probably carry the memory of Tree Girl with me for the rest of my life and I desperately hope she does run for office one day like several people shouted that she should. It'd be quite the story.

But still, I worry. I worry that for many, this was tourist activism, safe social justice. At times, it felt like the physical manifestation of a viral video and it is impossible to know the content of the hearts that clicked "like" on this event. I worry that this was not primarily a march of those who have felt injustice but rather those who fret about its presence on their horizon. I worry that we did not and will not address the issues that weigh more heavily on women of color. I worry that the abundance of uteruses, in art and in slang slogans (and listen, I'm not shy about talking about my uterus), distracted from the real pain that's been integrated into our systems of governance and our social relations. I worry that we shouted and did not listen. I worry that some signs were not kind. I worry about the hatred that bubbles at the bottom of every human heart and I worry that we may give in to that, no matter what our intentions.

Today, millions of people around the globe stood in solidarity with those that have been disrespected and disregarded and that is a powerful and beautiful thing. We should celebrate that. A friend of mine responded to my affirmation that I was going to march with a "Good." and that simple, strong support from him spoke a fire into my gut that I want all of you to feel, an acknowledgement that things aren't as they should be and cannot be allowed to remain as they are. But let's not let ourselves be satisfied with our marches today. Beautiful things can be imperfect things too.

Let's be better. Let's be stronger. Let's get to work.