Marching on Main

I was asked to contribute a few brief, first-hand thoughts on the Women’s March On Main at Sundance for a newsletter about the event. Here they are.


When presented with a sexist, egotistical, lying, hypocritical, bigot as president (imagine that in Jane Fonda’s voice) it can sometimes be tough to find a light within the darkness, but the March on Main gave me a glimmer of hope that I haven’t really felt since November 7th. Putting my body — a female body; a fat body; a fat female body that carries the weight of coal miner and Irish immigrant ancestors — in a space with so many other bodies, both alike and totally unlike mine, to protest an administration that seeks to strip female bodies of their fundamental human rights felt like an action, a movement, and a statement against the white supremacist capitalist patriarchy (s/o to bell hooks) that seeks to turn all women into no more than docile, diminutive reproductive vessels. Well, I simply refuse that — me and my big body (and big booty) will not be made small by that person in the White House.

Marching alongside women, children, and men who felt the same way temporarily took away the persistent darkness that I’ve felt since the election, if only for a few hours. Marching through the snowy muck of Park City felt like an apt metaphor for the next four (and maybe more) years — we were cold, we were tired, and we were hungry, but we were there, mad as hell, and ready to not take it anymore. I do hope that future Women’s Marches will continue to create an inclusive, welcoming space for ALL women, and that we can all check our privilege, listen more, and talk less. We’re going to need to include every woman that we can as we continue to throw punches in this long, arduous fight.