Four Days Before the Women’s March on Washington
I wrote too much on my protest sign, of course. It was the “#WhyIMarch” that did it to me. I described my attempts to formulate a succinctly worded sign to my best friend, Jackie, who is also attending, as “Trying to fit Stephen King’s entire The Stand series on a grain of sand.” I wondered, What’s the page limit on a protest sign? Fortunately, my sign has two sides, and I used better restraint on the second one. I mentioned my lack of brevity to a class, and one student, Jennifer, who knows me well and was not at all surprised, said, “You need one of those giant sticky note flip pads.” As I finished coloring in letters on my sign tonight, I imagined sticky noting D.C. and in the process, walking up to Donald Trump and sticky noting him, adhesive strip placed firmly across his big mouth.
What I didn’t realize was that the mere act of making my sign would be cathartic. I could actually give voice to my anger simply by penciling the words on foam board. Admittedly, I have been angry for a long time, but not with the intensity that I feel in relation to Trump’s misogyny and the history and current views of his incoming administration. I didn’t realize how much I needed this release. If this simple act is one of empowerment, I wonder how protesting with over 100,000 of my sisters (and supportive brothers) will feel on Saturday? I can’t wait to find out! Before it closed, I used to go to a lesbian bar, The Patch, in Calumet City, Illinois, as a straight ally. A sense of sisterhood permeated the place, such as I’d never known outside of it. I anticipate feeling that again on Saturday, only with much greater intensity due to the focused energy of the marchers. The thought brings tears to my eyes. And I am grateful that my tween daughter, Jianna, will have the experience and be able to see women, the power of women, through new eyes.