You Are Still Marching.
Did you go to a Women’s March this weekend? I’d bet you did. It may not feel like it right now, but you’re still marching.
Before the excitement settles and the signs are folded up, there is one thing I’d like to add to this historic day. The March on Saturday was a lot like how our next four years will be. Or, how they should be.
Perhaps you felt a little nervous about going. Would there be a million people in your town, or only a handful? When you set out from home you were alone, or perhaps you and a friend. But as you head in the direction of your town square, you start to see people walking beside you. The closer you get to the square, the more people you see. The more hats and signs you see. The clearer it becomes, these people are with you.
And then you get your first glimpse of the square — so many people! You walk into the center, and you stand. And the minute you plant your feet you feel a sense of uncertainty: what do we do now? When will we march? What’s supposed to happen? We’re all here because we believed in this thing enough to show up. Now we’ve shown up; now what?
Then someone gets on the microphone and starts to speak. And everybody turns in that direction, toward the stage, and watches a person with an amplified voice speak. It’s thrilling, and everybody cheers. But soon that speaker’s time is over, and the mic cuts off. Again you’re all standing, sort of waiting. Someone yells “let’s march!” someone else yells, “we have to wait!” What do you do?
You’re in the middle of the crowd, and it’s hard to move because there are so many of you. When your numbers are so large and your mass is so great, you will be slow to move at first. But then, you feel a movement. Someone yells, “The march is starting! We’re going!” But you’re not moving, so you don’t know which direction. The edges push forward, everyone looks forward, getting ready. Then, the movement hits your area, and you start walking.
You have a sign, and a reason for coming. But it’s all so uncertain, so incredibly vulnerable. It’s an amount of self-exposure as new and terrifying as a school dance. You think for a moment: God damnit, I hate this. Why can’t this just be a country where we all just march in lockstep? Where is the crowd going? Where should we turn next? Does anyone have a goddamned map? What’s happening here?
But. You came, and you’re part of this, and as scary as it is, you know it is important to be here. So you stay, and from the center, you march.
Right now, the most fragile and powerful part of this March is beginning. You’ve left the confines of the city square with its organizers, video screens and PA system focusing your attention and your will. Now you’re on the street, walking with thousands. You see the different signs, all saying something heartfelt, strange, batshit crazy, funny, and unique to that person and their pack of magic markers. Your sign says something about The Majority. That person’s sign has a big Woman’s Rights fist from the 70s. Over there is someone dressed like Abraham Lincoln, carrying a cutout of Joe Biden.
There is no loud speaker, no charismatic center. There are no songs to whip up a crowd, no agreed upon speeches. It is people marching together, making their own sounds.
Just in earshot, you hear one person shout: “Show me what democracy looks like!” Three people around her shout in return, “This is what democracy looks like!”
And that person, supported by her three new allies, gets stronger: “show me what democracy looks like!” Now the people around them heard their four voices. They join in. “This is what democracy looks like!” 25 people are chanting now.
And then it grows. Call, response. Now it’s 100 people. Each time, the response grows. Now it’s hundreds of people. The chant has grown large enough that you hear areas of chanters falling out of sync, falling back into sync. You feel it swell, peak, and eventually die down.
This is what democracy looks like.
This is it. Right now, you’re in it. Our constitution constructs a very strong barricade protecting an amorphous and pluralistic swarm of dissenters, free-thinkers and weirdos. And here we are, marching together, deciding which direction together. When someone raises their voice, we chant along or refrain from chanting, but still, we are marching together.
Let’s remember that as we feel our way forward over these next, very important years. We are a gigantic, powerful, undeniable mass of people who care. We have different reasons for coming, but we are marching together. Ours is the harder, more uncertain way to march, but ours is the best way. We are a national majority.
The PA system has shut off, the speeches have ended. Now we have to chart our course, step by step. And make our own noise.
