Posters tackled the racism of Trump and his cabinet, funding for Planned Parenthood, immigration, women’s right to choose, climate change, LGBT rights, Black Lives Matter, Standing Rock, veterans’ rights, Muslim rights, disability rights, and many, many more. Several signs called upon white women to do better with intersectional feminism. “Too many issues, not enough poster,” was one that pretty much said it all.
The event itself seemed to work hard to correct initial missteps, with a massive lineup of diverse speakers. America Ferrera railed against Trump. Senator Tammy Duckworth, who lost both of her legs in Iraq, said “she didn’t shed blood… to have the Constitution trampled on.” Gloria Steinem declared Trump mentally unfit. Janelle Monae lead a chant remembering victims of police brutality with the Mothers of the Movement. Women’s March organizer Tamika Mallory asked for everyone to stand for the most marginalized members of society. Ashley Judd delivered an insane and amazing poem by teenage Tennessean Nina Donovan that must be seen to be believed. Six-year-old immigration activist Sophie Cruz was captivating. And transgender activist and author Janet Mock spoke on intersectionality, saying “Our approach to freedom need not be identical but it must be intersectional and inclusive. It must extend beyond ourselves.”
And hundreds of thousands of people marched, or, for a while, sort of moved slowly en masse, a huge crowd stuck all together. There were chants for women’s rights and BLM and gay rights and every other issue featured on the posters. People locked hands and sang and laughed and some cried, and it was cheesy and deeply moving. One extremely triggering lady dressed up as Donald Trump and screamed, “my right to choose!” Madonna said “fuck” a million times and it was very encouraging. People cleared the way for wheelchairs. Everywhere you looked, there were more marchers. If you backed away and got some elevation, you could see waves of protesters coming like a pink tsunami.
When I got off the train at Union Station in Washington D.C. on Friday, Inauguration Day, the first thing I saw were the hats, those red baseball caps, all screaming “Make America Great Again.” And they were on everyone—old people, frat boys, women in expensively tailored clothes, men in an unsettling amount of hunting camouflage, and young children. I recently went to the Scientology center in LA, where everyone wanders around in naval uniforms believing in Xenu, alien dictator of the Galactic Confederacy. That felt a lot like the train station with the fucking hats.
But then on Saturday, D.C. was teeming with a different sort of headgear, pink knit caps with cat ears. They were everywhere. It’s now estimated that as many as 600,000 people marched in D.C., millions nationwide, even more globally. We were surrounded by hundreds of thousands of people who were all there to support women’s rights. I have never been to anything like it; there has never been anything like it. A veritable army of pussies.
Writing for The New Yorker ahead of the event, Jia Tolentino quoted poet Eduardo Galeano. "'No matter how much I walk, I'll never reach her.' But the idea of a future marked by equality and respect will make hundreds of thousands walk." They didn't just walk. They screamed.
