Saturday was my first protest. This is a function of me being both intensely uncomfortable in large groups of people and a pragmatist (or I like to think so, anyway). Protests exist for the protester--for an oppressed group, protest may feel (perhaps rightfully) like only avenue of potential change available. Protests and marches provide affirmation and solidarity and the emotional release of just doing something. All of that is important, even necessary.
Yet, I am wary, because protests and marches that make substantive change tend to be the exception, rather than the rule. I firmly believe that the Women's March this Saturday was one of these exceptions.
Last Friday, a man was inaugurated as president who had shown himself uniquely sensitive to the warmth of our bodies. He has boasted about the numbers at his rallies. He claimed that his inauguration crowd size would be unmatched, and he lied about them when they were not. As a general public, we know very little about what Donald Trump truly cares about. It is clear, however, that his popularity is one of those things. So on Saturday, I marched in his home city along with three and a half million others around the globe to show him that the numbers are not on his side--that he slipped into office through the back door of a broken electoral system, that the enthusiasm of those against him is far greater than those who wear his hat, that we will not make this easy for him.
Mr. Trump, you may be famous, you may even be the president, but this is only the beginning. We will not take this lying down.