Monthly Archives: January 2017

The 2017 Women’s March in Washington, DC, is billed by Wikipedia as the largest single-day protest in US history.

I’d say! Just check out my view of 14th Street, looking toward the Mall:

It was also the most feared – by potential marchers as well as others.

Countless friends and strangers told me I must be crazy to go to DC and march with Trump (illegitimately) taking over the Oval Office. “Be careful,” they admonished. Even some of the staff at the local UPS store looked at the sign I was printing up, and told me point blank, with fearful looks on their faces: “I would not want to be down there.”

I can only imagine how much bigger it would have been, if not for one thing: fear.

Fear of what, I wondered. Being arrested? Being bashed by counter-protesters? Being injured, or worse? Or – and this is my favorite in corporate-fascist-land Amerikkka: Being caught on facebook by employers for having gone and joined the “rabble-rousers” and “troublemakers?”

Apparently so – and which only made me want to go more. Because we had finally hit rock bottom.

Trump was erected US President by the Electoral College. I had nothing to do with it. The installation of a US President by 538 people, now THAT is something to fear – and something to change. I’d had an immediate conversion of that fear into anger and, even more importantly, action. Because the first woman president, who’d won three million more votes than do-nothing Don, was going home. And the most entitled white male I’d ever seen run for president – one who couldn’t even pull off the popular vote – was going to the White House.

It is no wonder so many people don’t want to work hard or try to win honestly. America is a bona fide rigged system. The scammers and cons and data scientists have figured it all out, right on up to the White House. Flawed democracy, yes we are. If all one needs to do to win the presidency is to “win here, here, and here” per the Electoral College’s welfare-like voting system, which awards more voting power per voter to those residing in less populous states – and not win the majority of our hearts and minds – that is reason enough to be angry as fuck.

The remedy for fear being deliberate, decisive action, I booked a bus ticket to DC, printed out some maps of the metro system, packed up my things, and rolled up my UPS store-made sign, which said, “RESIST” on one side, and “FORWARD” on the other. One word per side, each of which said it all.

I arranged a short stay through All Souls Church Unitarian in DC and landed on a comfy couch bed in Tenleytown. They next morning, I entered the metro station to the excited urgings of a metro worker reminding us – and to be fair, the entire station was full of women’s marchers – to “hurry up! 10 am, people!” A big smile stretched its way across my face. This was going to be a great day of batteries being recharged, of hopes being resurrected.

I rode a crowded red line train to Judiciary Square, and after spending a couple hours attempting to get to the March epicenter at 3rd and Independence, I encountered no cell phone service along with standing room only. I could just about see the large video monitor set up at that location when word came through the crowd that the march itself, at least along its planned, permitted route, had been cancelled. There were just too many people.

With all bets off and nearly a million marchers suddenly loose on the streets, we collectively headed toward the Ellipse and the White House on whatever streets or grassy sections of the Mall would take us there, permitting be damned. Along the way, DC Metro police officers showed up to partition the crowd. Yes, it was that big. I’ll never forget the look on the cop’s face as he put up barrier tape in front of my nearby crowd, which had just crossed the Mall on the way to Pennsylvania Avenue, and effectively sent half of us up Constitution and the other half up Pennsylvania Avenue.

It was fear.

Fear. There it was again, on the opposing side of a police barricade from where I was standing. He was not alone in being frightened by We the Pussy.

Fear of the vagina runs rampant among the American victim-entitlement class these days (largely white, and largely male…and completely insecure). It is the same fear behind all the taxpayer dollar-wasting abortion bans and restrictions, when we should be passing measures guaranteeing all-inclusive healthcare for every citizen. It is the same fear behind the bathroom safety arguments against passing the ERA, the same stupid argument being dusted off and currently used against transgenders having the individual liberty to use the facilities they feel most comfortable using. It is the same fear behind the lack of equal pay. It is the same fear behind the lack of transparency in so many things that keeps the large majority of us in some way screwed over.

I often imagine how great this country could be if there were true and full equality for everyone – and that means ridding ourselves of fear. It means women letting go of their inferiority complexes and the repeat-taught need to be taken care of, or spoken for, or installed into limited societal roles set aside for us. It means men letting go of their unearned superiority and entitlement – especially the attitude that women’s bodies are public property, and somehow theirs to do with or vote on or restrict as they please. Those who created the society where women must work twice as hard to get half as far now find they need to pull themselves up by their bootstraps and compete with women who answered that challenge, most often under the constant and rigorous scrutiny and second-guessing that always comes with a big helping of double standards.

And, it means we go to the root of where this bigotry came from – and that is none other than organized religion, or what I’ve come to call the men’s mythology clubs. You know, the ones where men design a god that looks just like them – and then relegate everyone else to second-class status using the concept of – and fear of – a supreme being to artificially inflate their value while minimizing that of all others.

But, like it or not, women have a LOT of power: Women create life. Women decide who gets born. With some exceptions, women raise the next generation. Everyone on this planet has a generous – some may say too generous – woman to thank for their existence. A lot of people live in fear of this reality, and, according to “god” – who I’ve finally figured out is “the little boy who lives in my mouth” from The Shining – they gottacontrolthosesluts. Sluts, of course, being women who enjoy their bodies, along with their nature-given – or god-given, depending on what or who you believe – capacity for multiple orgasm, and who can take care of themselves without needing a male hovering over their every move.

Currently in the US, there are far too many laws and attitudes which reflect fear of women rather than gratitude or respect. And, currently in the US, there are far too many women who fear and refuse to own their own power – and who turn around and vote against their own best interests. A lot of this has to do with what is falsely referred to as faith.

If one cannot view and experience the full menu of choices within a free society and adhere to one’s own faith without violating the freedoms, safety and well-being of other citizens, then that is not faith at all. It is something else. And once again, that something is fear.

Authentic faith has no fear. It does not dictate. It does not seek to control. It doesn’t need to.

I’ve never seen so many people lacking authentic faith as those who voted for Trump. And I’ve never seen as many people in Washington DC, as I saw on the day of the Women’s March, not ever. How appropriate on the day after Fear Itself took office.

For me, it was a reminder that when We the People put our boots on the ground and bodies on the line, we have real power. Imagine that same crowd going rogue. Imagine all of them armed, holding guns instead of signs. Then imagine this: The “scariest” thing I heard at the 2017 Women’s March on DC was “ooops, sorry” when someone inadvertently stepped on my foot, which happened quite a bit during the March, and on the way into and out of the Metro…and where Metro personnel were nothing but encouraging and helpful…and fearless, telling us all to get our butts in gear, and get to the March on time…and don’t forget your kids, your backpacks, your water, your maps…or your First Amendment rights:

In answer to the many concerned people who admonished me to “be safe” at the Women’s March and then asked me what it was like to be there, I told them this: Even with Trump taking office in our midst, I was among hundreds of thousands of my sisters and brothers in intent. I’ve never felt safer.

Nor have I ever felt more fearlessly charged up to go home and do even more – I made it my mission to make at least one call to a representative, senator, state legislator, mayor, council member, governor, etc, per day. And to go to as many protests as possible. And to contribute to causes with time, money and ideas. And…and…AND!!!

Please also see my video of the 2017 Women’s March on DC.

Resist On!

Be Well,

Alison