If you've met me, you know that I am firmly left of center when it comes to my political ideologies. I am socially liberal, believe that there needs to be a robust social safety net and that those who need assistance to get a head in life should have pathways to achieve that goal. I also recognize that as a white cis gender male there will be experiences, especially when it comes to institutionalized discrimination, I will never be able to relate to. As a gay man, I am a little more inclined to say that I can empathize with my friends of color when it comes to being discriminated against, however, I know that I have been privileged enough to not experience that directly, or individually.
When I watched in fear and horror as state after state went for Donald Trump back in November, I was afraid for the future of our country. That feeling of unbridled optimism that swept the nation (or so I thought) during 2008 and the election of Barack Obama was gone. Instead, fear mongering, hatred and lies won out. I was thrown into intellectual turmoil. I haven't used #notmypresident, because I have faith in the electoral process. This election was not free from interference, both domestically from agencies like the FBI and internationally from countries like Russia, but I firmly believe that the polls and polling places were not rigged or tampered with. And as such, I begrudgingly admit that Donald Trump won the election.
But I lost hope. I lost my sense of youthful optimism instilled in me by the young and unlikely senator from Illinois. I was afraid. I was afraid that the new president would appoint a justice on the Supreme Court that would make same sex marriage illegal once more. I was afraid he would take immediate and decisive action agains minority communities around the country. And my fears were not unfounded. His campaign rhetoric, if taken at face value, is terrifying. He threatened to jail his political opponent. He said he would ban the entry of refugees from Muslim countries. He said he would build a wall with our neighbor and force them to pay for it. It was not a time for blind optimism.
The day after the election, I received a Facebook invitation to attend the Women's March on Washington. I loved the idea, but wasn't planning on going. Instead, that day, I was going to plan a surprise baby shower for one of my best friends. Frankly, I didn't think that the march would be safe, given the number of Trumpkins in Washington, D.C. and their likelihood to insight violence against those who think differently. I was going to be content over across the river, drinking, eating and celebrating the new life growing inside of my friend. But she had other plans.
Since she didn't know what we were planning for that day, she said that she wanted to go march. Now there was no way I could not march if my 8 month pregnant friend was going to do it. So I decided, fine, I'll go early in the day, march and then go to her house while she's still out and decorate.
And that's what I did. And am I ever thankful she convinced me to go.
Walking to the march from my house was surreal. I had walked around the day before during the inaugural parade and felt like I was in some weird post apocalyptic Washington, D.C. National Guard troops looked visibly tense. There was a dull and negative energy swirling around the normally busy and jovial streets of the nation's capitol. But not on the day of the march.
Within twenty four hours, the streets went from somber and melancholy to filled with joyful noises of tens of thousands of people gathering for one purpose: to show we were not afraid and that hope didn't die on November 8.
We walked from my house in Dupont to 4th street, between the National Museum of the American Indian and the National Air and Space museum. I won't lie; I was disappointed I didn't see Sara Bareilles on my walk there, but what I saw was even more amazing (if that's even possible).
I saw men, women, boys, girls, old, young, gay, straight, black, white, brown, all gathering on the nation's front lawn shouting support for one another. The signs people held up were not only to support women's rights, but to reaffirm support for Black Lives Matter or the LGBTQ+ community, or immigrants coming to this country.
Walking across the Mall itself, I remember vividly hearing a cheer break out on the north side. The cheer spread among the crowd, like a wave. If you've ever been to a Muslim country and heard the Imam do the evening call to prayer in a big city, one Mosque starts and then the next, and the next until that wave of prayer washes over the city. That was what was happening in DC. Instead of praying to Mecca, we were announcing to the world that we were not going to give up our rights, our protections, our lives, without a fight. And it was magical.
I did leave before the march started, but having arrived at 9:30AM I thought I was good. We left the area by about 11:30AM and in those two hours, at least two hundred thousand people joined the march. It took us 45 minutes to walk a block and a half through the crowd. And it was amazing. People were polite, people were happy, people were cheerful. I will admit, I got a little misty eyed more than once on that day.
That day is a day that will be burned into my mind. It is a day I will tell my nieces and nephews about. If I'm lucky enough to meet someone with whom I would like to have children, it is a day I will tell our kids about. I was there. I marched. And I realized that my work was only just beginning.
When I watched in fear and horror as state after state went for Donald Trump back in November, I was afraid for the future of our country. That feeling of unbridled optimism that swept the nation (or so I thought) during 2008 and the election of Barack Obama was gone. Instead, fear mongering, hatred and lies won out. I was thrown into intellectual turmoil. I haven't used #notmypresident, because I have faith in the electoral process. This election was not free from interference, both domestically from agencies like the FBI and internationally from countries like Russia, but I firmly believe that the polls and polling places were not rigged or tampered with. And as such, I begrudgingly admit that Donald Trump won the election.
But I lost hope. I lost my sense of youthful optimism instilled in me by the young and unlikely senator from Illinois. I was afraid. I was afraid that the new president would appoint a justice on the Supreme Court that would make same sex marriage illegal once more. I was afraid he would take immediate and decisive action agains minority communities around the country. And my fears were not unfounded. His campaign rhetoric, if taken at face value, is terrifying. He threatened to jail his political opponent. He said he would ban the entry of refugees from Muslim countries. He said he would build a wall with our neighbor and force them to pay for it. It was not a time for blind optimism.
The day after the election, I received a Facebook invitation to attend the Women's March on Washington. I loved the idea, but wasn't planning on going. Instead, that day, I was going to plan a surprise baby shower for one of my best friends. Frankly, I didn't think that the march would be safe, given the number of Trumpkins in Washington, D.C. and their likelihood to insight violence against those who think differently. I was going to be content over across the river, drinking, eating and celebrating the new life growing inside of my friend. But she had other plans.
Since she didn't know what we were planning for that day, she said that she wanted to go march. Now there was no way I could not march if my 8 month pregnant friend was going to do it. So I decided, fine, I'll go early in the day, march and then go to her house while she's still out and decorate.
And that's what I did. And am I ever thankful she convinced me to go.
Walking to the march from my house was surreal. I had walked around the day before during the inaugural parade and felt like I was in some weird post apocalyptic Washington, D.C. National Guard troops looked visibly tense. There was a dull and negative energy swirling around the normally busy and jovial streets of the nation's capitol. But not on the day of the march.
Within twenty four hours, the streets went from somber and melancholy to filled with joyful noises of tens of thousands of people gathering for one purpose: to show we were not afraid and that hope didn't die on November 8.
We walked from my house in Dupont to 4th street, between the National Museum of the American Indian and the National Air and Space museum. I won't lie; I was disappointed I didn't see Sara Bareilles on my walk there, but what I saw was even more amazing (if that's even possible).
I saw men, women, boys, girls, old, young, gay, straight, black, white, brown, all gathering on the nation's front lawn shouting support for one another. The signs people held up were not only to support women's rights, but to reaffirm support for Black Lives Matter or the LGBTQ+ community, or immigrants coming to this country.
Walking across the Mall itself, I remember vividly hearing a cheer break out on the north side. The cheer spread among the crowd, like a wave. If you've ever been to a Muslim country and heard the Imam do the evening call to prayer in a big city, one Mosque starts and then the next, and the next until that wave of prayer washes over the city. That was what was happening in DC. Instead of praying to Mecca, we were announcing to the world that we were not going to give up our rights, our protections, our lives, without a fight. And it was magical.
I did leave before the march started, but having arrived at 9:30AM I thought I was good. We left the area by about 11:30AM and in those two hours, at least two hundred thousand people joined the march. It took us 45 minutes to walk a block and a half through the crowd. And it was amazing. People were polite, people were happy, people were cheerful. I will admit, I got a little misty eyed more than once on that day.
That day is a day that will be burned into my mind. It is a day I will tell my nieces and nephews about. If I'm lucky enough to meet someone with whom I would like to have children, it is a day I will tell our kids about. I was there. I marched. And I realized that my work was only just beginning.
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