Women marching. Men marching. The inauguration’s over. Somber after-gloom and I’ve awoke to find
that the first counterpunch has already been thrown. Women have gone to D.C. Men have joined. Women have gathered in countless cities
across America. Women are coming
together to meet all around the world.
Everybody needs something to do beside yell at his or her computer screen.
I’m over here. While
there appears to be spontaneous gatherings underway across the world (Go New
Delhi!), I don’t even bother to check in China.
The lawful assemble of people to protest peacefully isn’t protected,
unless its orchestrated on purpose by ZhongNanHai.
I read everything I could find on the event. My sister wrote to say she was heading down
from Brooklyn to join at the capital. I
gathered up my daughters to share with them what was going on. “We know.
We know. We’ve been looking at it
on Snapchat.” “Oh.” They had a better range of signs than I could
find. They show me one with an older
lady that says: “I can’t believe I have to still protest this shit,” which
about sums it up.
If I were home, if I could click my heels and be home I
would put a trip together for these girls to the capital. I’d like them to see it all in action. It’s been too long for me. One gets the sense that there will be many,
many opportunities to join along. But salut to all the mothers and daughters
and sisters and fathers and sons who spent the first day of the Trump
presidency reaffirming the future.
Sunday, 01/22/17
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