How Will We Move Forward When It’s Not Possible to Move at All
Not my first experience with crowds, but …
Just as crowds of people overwhelmed Downtown Los Angeles and crippled its ability to function as city, I found myself overwhelmed with ideas and emotions while attending The Women’s March Los Angeles.
It was a beautiful day and a wonderful experience. The previous day’s rain left DTLA sparkling. It was a perfect LA winter morning, 50-something degrees with shockingly blue, cloudless skies. The crisp air around Pershing Square was perfumed with the scent of burning sage.
It was a privilege to have what may have been the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to come together with hundreds of thousands of people in a city that I love to celebrate women, civil rights, equality, and humanity. The uplifting themes of the day permeated the air: love, peace, unity, trust, freedom, liberty, resisting fear, resisting hate, fostering connections, and not building barriers.
At different moments throughout the morning, I felt joy, bursting emotion; tears swelled and swirled, but at other times I felt the shadow of doubt. Would this be another “occupy” moment with no path forward? I even briefly rubbed shoulders with the sickness claustrophobic of dread.
When the event officially kicked off and the speeches began at 9:00 am, we were at the intersection of 6th and Hill. Within 15 minutes, the crowd had become so dense, it was nearly impossible to move. As the crowd continued to intensify, the speeches, which were being given atop a bus within 200 yards of us, could no longer be heard, and the view of the bus became obscured by a myriad of signs with affirmative messages such as: “Alt, Right, Delete,” “Love, Unity, Equality,” “The Glass Ceiling Does Not Shatter Itself,” and “Build Bridges Not Walls.”
Shephard Fairey designed “We The People” posters were plastered everywhere.
Within a few more minutes, people were packed in so tightly, we were now locked in on all sides by thousands and thousands and blocks and blocks of people. I have been in lots of crowds, concerts and music festivals with crowds of tens of thousands. In the past, I had a job that called on me to deal with crowd control and manage and coordinate the movement of tens of thousands of people on a nightly basis.
I knew the crowds for the march would be large, but I had not considered how intense they would become. When someone behind us began to express anxiety about being boxed in and unable to move, it was as if they opened a door into my mind and dropped a a little seed of fear. I could feel the lightheadedness of dread welling up inside me.
We! Could! Not! Move!
I worked through it mentally, calming myself, but now the idea was there with me. Occasionally, a person would move in a through the crowd in front of us in various states of what appeared to be a panic attacks. “I’m sorry. I have to get through!” one person said with a shaky voice, crying as they passed.
We decided to try to move to the edge of the crowd.
We joined another group of people that were making a move in front of us. As we inched through the crowd, apologizing as we went, most people were friendly, understanding, and even loving. “It’s OK. We’re here for a good cause,” someone said.
There was not a trace of aggression, but there was a touch of passive aggression as another commented as if we could not hear: “They’ve obviously never marched before. You take your place. Then you wait to march.” While I did not appreciate the self-satisfied snark, they were right. I had never “marched” for anything. I’ve attended rallies and cause focused concerts and festivals, but nothing like this.
I began to feel gratitude for the sacrifices other “marchers” made through the years, so that we may all enjoy a more fully realized quality of life. It also dawned on me that, while I intellectually understood the fight for civil rights had required sacrifices and discomfort, I had not considered that even just assembling in a large group in celebration or protest could be a challenge.
Saturday’s march did not require me to sacrifice to the degree the suffragette and civil rights warriors of America’s past or Black Lives Matter protesters of today. At this Women’s March, there would be no arrests, no government or police opposition or beatings, no riot gear, tear gas, pepper spray, biting dogs.
Early in the morning, as we walked through downtown, we exchanged smiles and greetings with several LAPD officers. Local government representatives were participating in the march and giving speeches, and the crowd was peaceful and supportive.
Saturday’s sacrifices would be minor, but I learned that among the many potentials skills needed in the struggle for civil rights, is the ability to manage claustrophobia while standing in an oceanic mass of humanity in which individual movement is impossible.
It took about 15 minutes for us to make our way across Hill Street to the opposite corner at which point, it became clear there was no pathway out of the crowd, so we settled in.
The speeches were scheduled to end and the march to City Hall was to begin at 10:00, but at 10:15, even though we had not been able to hear the speeches for some time now, and we could no longer see the open-top bus that was being used as the stage, we could occasionally hear bits and pieces of a speech or a cheer of the crowd.
Occasionally the crowd broke into the booming chant: “March! March! March!…”
One person urgently pushed through the crowd. “I’m sorry. I can’t breathe! I need to get through! I’m sorry!”
At 10:40 we still had not moved, and for as far as we could see, neither had anyone else. Anxiety started to become palpable around us. Many started pushing. People were not in a state a panic, but many seemed uneasy. The pressure of people moving and pushing through was getting intense. Again, we joined the current created by a stream of people as they pushed by us moving east. It remained intense, but halfway across the block, as we moved east towards Broadway, we finally broke through the edge of the crowd and began to march.
As we continued our adventure, it developed into a magical, enjoyable day. We encountered friends throughout the day and stayed late into the afternoon until the sun was well into its decent.
It was a fantastic. I would not have missed it. This was definitely more of a party celebration than an arduous struggle; nonetheless, my eyes were opened to the potential intensity of marching for a cause with hundreds of thousands of other people in a space that is woefully inadequate for the crowd.
There is a symbolic value in the assembly of massive groups of people in support of women’s rights and the rights of all people, but if the movement does not translate into a lasting political force for change then The Women’s March is only a partial success.
It appears the United States is entering a new era of civil rights struggles. I will carry the lessons of the day to future large scale gatherings. I view the march as an analogy for the democratic process for change and progress. Both require cooperation, compromise, concentration, and persistence. They require personal sacrifice and sometimes suffering, and ultimately, we must fight through discomfort and find the resolve to work through the obstacles to reach the other side.
