The Women's March on Washington, with Sister Marches Around the World
January 21st, 2017
Nasty N'awlins Women gearing up in Washington Square Park |
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Left to right: Allison, Ella, Juliana, and Sarah Thank you for marching! |
Three incredible women I had the pleasure of meeting yesterday. |
Representing with my Planned Parenthood shirt and Angel of Grace arthritis awareness bracelet. |
All of the nasty women in New Orleans gathered in Washington Square Park, a green space on the edge of the French Quarter, prior to the march, where we listened to a variety of speakers while greeting each other and bonding over our shared love of human rights (something I suspect men never really do). I adore situations like these, because even though I am pretty introverted I love meeting people, especially people older than I am, and soaking up all of their wisdom. There are so many smart, courageous, passionate, and relentless women in this world, and meeting even just one of them is a blessing beyond compare, so being surrounded by thousands of them at the New Orleans Women's March was just too much for my mushy heart to handle. I went into yesterday's march needing to find the good in the world, and let me tell you, it was there.
The actual marching process was when I began to realize what a terrible situation this was for my joints. To use one of my most common phrases, I was in a pickle. I had already walked over a mile from the streetcar to the starting site of the march and stood for a long time listening to all of the speakers and cheering on powerful women, so by the time we were actual moving down the streets of the French Quarter toward the Central Business District even the distracting nature of the march could not pull my attention away from my aching hips for more than a few seconds at a time. I was clenching and unclenching my fists and rotating my wrists in hopes of retaining as much range of motion as possible in my upper extremities since I could feel them swelling up, but this became exhausting and I finally gave up about halfway through. I stayed close to the sidewalk, afraid that my nausea would get the best of me. I bit my lower lip and scrunched my forehead in a last-ditch attempt to hold back tears while every step I took caused excruciating pain to slam against my ankles, knees, and hips.
Perhaps some of you are reading this and thinking, "Hey, Rach, maybe going to that march wasn't the best idea, it seems like maybe it didn't go so well for your body."
You're right. I am too sick to be doing something like this. I am too sick to be marching through the French Quarter in a germy crowd of people on a warm, rainy NOLA Saturday. I am too sick to be risking by ability to attend class this week simply by putting one foot in front of another and coming into close contact with other human beings. You're right. But guess what? I have to do this, because marching will be much less detrimental to my health than having my treatment revoked because some rich and healthy people who unfortunately hold a lot of power in this world have decided that stripping me of medically necessary injections that reduce my pain to mostly bearable levels is a good and moral idea. So yeah, I marched. Yeah, my arthritis pain level right now is probably the highest it has been since I started college. Yeah, getting out of bed today felt like running a marathon. Yeah, I skipped breakfast this morning because my hips hurt too much to walk to the dining hall. Yeah, I'm salty about it, because I should not have to march for such basic human rights. But there I was, and here I am. If you want me to feel better, stop suggesting that I take some extra time to rest and start calling your congressional representatives, advocating for people with disabilities, supporting funding for medical research, and voting for politicians who actually care about whether or not I can access my medications and the specialists who prescribe them.
There were a bazillion children at the New Orleans Women's March, and I always have such admiration for parents who bring their kids to these sort of events, because toting kids around can be logistically difficult and protests can be chaotic. The NOLA march kicked off with a jazz funeral for Lady Liberty (have I mentioned how much I love this crazy city?), and as we found ourselves in a gridlock-induced standstill while waiting for marchers to begin filing out of the park gates, I listened to a young mother explain to her three- or four-year-old son who Lady Liberty is and the symbolism of having a jazz funeral for her. I do not know who that mother is and I do not know who that child is, but in that moment the future looked so spectacularly bright. Later in the march, I found myself walking next to a set of parents who were pushing a very young child in a stroller while their six-year-old daughter danced through the streets of the French Quarter, clearly feeling strong and empowered by the presence of so many other dedicated women. Every few minutes, she would lift up her chin and scream at the top of her lungs, "Girl power!" and the rest of us would scream it back in solidarity. Leading all of us made her feel so special, impactful, and important. I wish that she, and every other little girl, could feel that way for the rest of her life. Girl power gives me hope in a world in which boy power has consistently failed. Girl power gives me a reason to dream. Girl power makes me want to have a daughter one day just so that I can remind her of her worth and value in this world. Girl power means that I can tackle even the most overwhelming of setbacks. Girl power meant that my shaking limbs but loud voice could make it through that march.
After the march reached City Hall, I stayed for a bit to cherish the time with so many amazing (nasty) women and listen to more speakers. I had the privilege of meeting other women for whom the repeal of the Affordable Care Act is a very real and pertinent medical concern, and we shared our fears with each other and promised to keep on fighting, no matter what happens. We discussed how far our country has to go on compassionate policy toward people with illnesses and disabilities, even if by some miracle the ACA is allowed to stay intact. There are millions of Americans who will experience the tragic effects of an ACA repeal in even more drastic and negative ways than I will, and I am advocating for them just as much as (if not more than) I am advocating for my own health. I am privileged to have two rheumatologists, live in areas with excellent healthcare, and have a pharmacist mother who understands the system. I have a loving family that is willing and able to make sacrifices for my health and friends who stick with me even when times are tough. No one should lose their life to policy. Congress should not be allowed to order the deaths of thousands of people who just want to feel better. What can save us from this hopelessness? Girl power.
After exchanging some email addresses and phone numbers with likeminded marchers, I made my way back to the streetcar, accompanied by an afternoon New Orleans drizzle that luckily did not turn into downpour until after I was onboard. Usually during peak hours the streetcar is a real struggle for me, because if I take a seat people shoot me sharp glares suggesting that I should leave them for people "who really need them." Having an invisible illness means lots of judgment but very little ability or desire to explain myself, and even though I know that I should probably not give in to this lack of empathy, I usually just stand because the glares stick with me for longer than the joint pain. I am convinced, however, that God was on my side yesterday, because I managed to spot an available seat next to two compassionate women on each of my trips, even though the streetcars were packed and most people were standing. I like to think that Jesus agrees with my conviction that if people are going to rip my health insurance out from under me at some point, the least they can do is save a seat for my aching bones.
The road ahead is downright terrifying. To my many sisters out there who are scared of the changes (or lack thereof) to come, I have your back. And to everyone reading this, I hope that we will move forward by taking each others' hands, calling our representatives, sharing our stories, seeking out the stories of people leading much different lives than we are, and becoming safe spaces for hurting people.
The future is female.
Women's rights are human rights.
My liberation is bound up with yours.
We are stronger together.
I am a conservative and a man. After going through this, I can commemorate your courage, and I am sorry for the situation our country's new president has put you in. You ended this by saying the future is female, while bashing men throughout the piece. I guess what I would like to know is what do you and all the other (nasty) women hope to achieve by "the future is female". From my personal understanding, women are much better off in this country than most other countries. In fact all people (all races, religions, nationalities.. etc.) in general are much better off in this country than most other countries. If you could enlighten me of what rights men have that women don't have in this day and age, I would genuinely like to know.
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