Looking Back on the Women's March in Washington DC

42 hours. 700 miles. 500,000 people.

I left home Saturday morning at 4:30am and drove to Charleston to take a flight to DC for the Women's March. A rabbit, a raccoon and a few deer were the only witnesses at that early hour; Larry was still tucked in and sleeping and lights were off in the neighbors' homes I passed.

I've been trying to get a handle on all that I saw and heard. What to tell you about? What propelled half a million people to converge on one city on a January day?

I knew there were a few other marches but was stunned to learn just how many places and how many people were marching at the same time, all across the world. Click here to see photos of many of them. My pictures are not nearly so good, some are fuzzy and dark, but I'll post them here anyway.

When we got to the DC airport it became immediately obvious that something very big, bigger than anyone had expected, was happening. People were pouring in, many of them--men and women alike--wearing pink hats. They were smiling and happy. Waves of cheers rose and fell in swells of voice.

We all herded toward the Metro trains. Somehow my friend Lindsay and I found space on one. We packed in like those pictures of people on Japanese trains, except that everyone was happy and excited. The transit employees were patient and helpful, maybe catching the infectious joy.

We disembarked, and crowded across platforms to the escalators. Cheers echoed up and down the Metro tunnels and signs began to be unfurled.

I wasn't too clear about where I was going, Lindsay went on to a different stop to meet her friends; I was looking for the groups coming in from West Virginia. I jumped on an escalator, figuring I could ask my way and eventually find the south lawn of the CApitol. That turned out to be a pretty good plan.

As I walked, I was one small drop in an ocean of humanity swelling and spilling down the roads and across lawns. I found the meeting place and waited.

The ocean of people continued passing by, thousands and thousands pouring in--and this was just one street, one area of the rally site. Signs were everywhere, cheers and chants rose and fell.

A man with a speaker preached about Jesus, a large group of young people chanted in unison: the young men shouting "Her Body. Her Choice" and the girls responding "My Body. My Choice." And everyone excited and laughing, polite, helping each other. A small group of Trump supporters chanted that Feminism is Rebellion. We agreed!

Finally some of the West Virginia group arrived and we began making our way to the main stage. We never got close.

Streets were closed;construction debris and barriers made it necessary to climb over chains, hop through coils of big cable, go around barriers of all kinds. It was an obstacle course but no one stopped. We just kept pressing forward.

Finally we came to a place we could stop, find places to sit on steps and walls, and listen to the large speakers. We could understand nothing except, "Whu Wanh-Huh" and loud cheers. Everyone was still smiling.

I talked with two ladies from the West coast--Seattle and San Diego. Then the crowd began to move again.  We thought the march was starting but no, it had been canceled we were told because every avenue, every space along its route was filled with people. It was then we began to hear that they thought there were half a million people of more at the event.

 I fell in step with a tall man named Ted who was originally from Athens, Ohio, not far from my home. We talked as we walked, sharing our excitement at being part of the day.

Eventually we got separated and I found myself near the Smithsonian museum, where a Jumbotron screen was showing what was going on at the main stage. I saw Whoopie, I think, and Michael Moore, Beyonce and Madonna on the screen but I was more interested in the people around me--all colors. sizes, sexes, nationalities, ages. Everyone being kind. Some signs I saw I didn't agree with, but many others I did. There was room for everyone and every point of view.

I looked for my granddaughter, but cell service went out with such huge demand and there was no way to find her. I looked for some of my many friends from all over the country who planned to be there but I never saw one person I knew. And it was fine. I talked to people from Canada, Maine, Massachusetts, Minnesota, Missouri, Florida, North Carolina, Virginia, and many other states. Everyone felt as I did--it was important to be there. Men were almost as numerous as women, there were as many young people as old. This was no single-race, single-agenda crowd.

 By this time it was late afternoon, my feet and legs were in misery from the walking and standing. I hadn't eaten or had anything to drink because the lines at the portable toilets told me not to--some people waited two hours to get into one. I found a row of toilets that looked like a reasonable 15-minute wait. As I stood in line I saw a Metro station. Yes it was time to go (in more ways than one!).

 

The lady in front of me pulled up the Metro map and I took a photo of the map with my phone so I could be sure to get on the right color line.

There was no paper in the toilet but I was prepared--the pre-march literature had told us to bring our own. I passed what I had left to the next lady in line and headed for the train.

His sign reads "Immigrants get the job done"

The lines were long, long ,long but somehow the one I got in moved very quickly. I asked questions of people and Metro staff to be absolutely sure I was on the right train. I was truly the country mouse in the city!

This time there was no chanting, just excited, euphoric conversations, people so very pleased to have been there, to have seen this huge, peaceful gathering, to have made a statement. Word began to spread of the marches around the world. My phone died and I mentioned to my seatmate, a Vietnamese woman about my age, that I might have a hard time finding my sister, who was to pick me up when I got to the station. When she heard that my sister lived in her same town, she offered to give me a ride, even though there were already 5 people in her small car. I was touched but told her I'd be fine. As I left the station I saw my sister pull up. Perfect timing.

I have been trying to process all of this, find out why I felt so affirmed. Perhaps it was because of the many people who said, we need to do this. We need to speak up. We need to be heard. We need to act. I don't know. The other day I wrote about why I was going. I didn't expect to come home with more reasons as to why I was there.

I ached all over by the end. Feet, hips, knees. My voice was and my nose was running. I was hungry and thirsty and completely happy and satisfied. I had done it. I had gone to the march, I had joined my voice with thousands of others expressing their opinions in this glorious free country.

I was one small witness to history.

Copyright Susanna Holstein. All rights reserved. No Republication or Redistribution Allowed without attribution to Susanna Holstein.

Packed and Ready!

I am packed and ready to head out early tomorrow morning for a standby flight to Washington DC for the Women's March.

I packed and re-packed: there are lots of rules and regs about what to bring and what is not allowed, about how to dress, etc etc.

Got a clear stadium bag (who knew there was such a thing?) and managed to get a change of clothes in there along with essentials, meds, small camera in case my phone gets full, and so on. Figured a way to carry ID and money safely. Arranged to meet up with my sister for an overnight stay. And I think I'm ready.

I'll post all about it when I get home.

This is going to be an adventure, I think. I hope!

Copyright Susanna Holstein. All rights reserved. No Republication or Redistribution Allowed without attribution to Susanna Holstein.

Why I'm Marching

I'm not a big radical. I'm not a particularly political person either. I'm one of those that are usually labeled moderate liberal--on some issues I'm conservative as can be, but on others I'm over there on the left. My main focus is what is good for the most people.

Which brings me to the Women's March on Washington. I am planning to go. Or if that doesn't work out, then I will be marching with the Sister March in Charleston, WV.

I grew up in the 60's and 70's but I was not one of the protesters back then. My father was ultra Republican and he had strong views about what women should and shouldn't do, and more importantly what his children should and shouldn't do. So I was pretty much a good daughter. I remember going with my boyfriend to DC to see the burned out places and the tent city during Martin Luther King's time and the civil rights protests. My father would have skinned me had he known. But that was about the extent of my radical teens.

Now I'm an old granny. I have grandchildren and even great-grandchildren. I live in a conservative area in a state and county that has voted Republican the past three Presidential elections. I tend to keep my head low and my views to myself. So why am I marching?

I am marching to honor the past: all those women who struggled and went to jail and marched for women's right to vote. I am marching to honor the veterans who fought in wars to protect our right to peaceably assemble and speak freely. I am marching to honor my friend Ellouise and all the women who worked so hard in the face of strong resistance to get the Equal Rights Amendment passed. It never was ratified but their fight was long and saw many successes.

I am marching for the immigrants: the ones who came over 200 years ago to build the America we know today, the ones to whom probably over 90% of us can trace our roots. I am marching for the ones who came later, to escape repression of their speech, religion, and race. I am marching for the ones  like my German great-grandparents, who came to America seeking economic opportunity. I am marching for the ones like my mother who came after WWII to this new land to start families with their American soldier husbands, who found their way in this sea of strangers to start a new life. I am marching for the ones here now who are afraid of what will happen to them and to their families in the next four years.

I am marching for the future: for my granddaughters and great-granddaughters, that they will continue to enjoy the freedoms and rights for women that they take for granted. That they will one day have pay equity. That they will one day not be judged by their gender or by their looks but by who they are and what they do. That they will be able to love and marry the person they choose, regardless of race, social status, or gender identity. That they will never be told they cannot do something because they're female.

I am marching for myself: for all the times I've stayed quiet to avoid making waves, for the years I worked for less because I was a woman, for the many, many times I was told I could not do something because "girls can't." For the times my parents would not let me associate with people of any race or color other than white.

I am marching because of my morals and ethics: I want to let our soon-to-be President know that this granny does not support a man who bullies and belittles others, who treats women as property and worse, who lashes out, often with lies and half-truths, against anyone who speaks against him. This granny will speak against him.

I have lived through Eisenhower, Kennedy, Johnson, Nixon, Ford, Carter, Reagan, Bush, Clinton, Bush 2, and Obama. I have not always agreed with the policies, and sometimes the personal behavior, of some of these men, but they were our Presidents and I respected them. I did not protest their decisions even if I disagreed. This time is different. This time I have to say enough is enough.

That is why this granny is marching.



Copyright Susanna Holstein. All rights reserved. No Republication or Redistribution Allowed without attribution to Susanna Holstein.