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As we come marching, marching in the beauty of the day
I will have to wait to post pictures until I get them off my cousins' camera, but I am back from the march. It was very crowded and very loud and very welcoming and very intense and I am so very glad I went.
I knew we were starting late in the day. My cousins had a prior commitment in the morning, so we met up briefly in Harvard Square before![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
gaudior peeled off to spend the rest of the day working with people who really needed support after the inauguration; rushthatspeaks and I got to Boston Common with Fox in their baby sling (and a well-stocked diaper bag over my shoulder) around two in the afternoon. We had already seen a host of people with pink pussy hats and protest signs streaming backward over the Longfellow Bridge and boarding the Red Line at Charles/MGH; we figured that if we had missed the march proper, at least we could be present for the speeches and the singing and be counted as part of the collective demonstration that way. There seemed to be a large number of people still standing on the hillside as we walked up from Park Street. It would still be worth it.
We had not missed the march proper. Due to the number of protesters—three times greater than expected, I heard a woman saying afterward—they were marching in shifts. We were just in time to wait for the next round. Even more people were arriving as we waited near the bandstand, gradually shifting into a column with a generally agreed direction to face in rather than an uncertain mass with variegated signs and mutual photo-taking. There was a singer-songwriter named Emeline who closed her set with an unreleased song about refusing erasure and a whomping riot of brass and jazz from Somerville's own Second Line Social Aid and Pleasure Society Brass Band and the Boston Area Brigade of Activist Musicians (or BABAM!). I saw one protester waving a pride flag from a tree. I took a picture of Rush-That-Speaks and Fox and they took one of me, after I had pushed my hat back enough that my face didn't disappear. And then the crowd started moving in a more or less concerted direction and then we were marching.
I took a lot of pictures. Partly to capture the size of the crowd, mostly for signs I thought were especially excellent, though I couldn't catch them all. The route was something like a mile, around part of the Common and the Boston Public Gardens with a loop up and back the first block of Comm. Ave.; there were route police at intersections where anyone might get confused, but also schoolbuses and recycling trucks courtesy of the City of Boston to provide guiding borders on either side. There was a good range of ages. There was a good mix of genders and ethnicities. There were people with visible disabilities. I saw signs in English, Spanish, Arabic, Hebrew, Chinese. There were fife-and-drum musicians marching under a banner that read "Remember the Ladies—Abigail Adams, 1776," playing "The Battle Cry of Freedom," "The Minstrel Boy," and "Solidarity Forever." (Technically it could have been "John Brown's Body/The Battle Hymn of the Republic," but the people around us were singing "Solidarity Forever," so I took their word for it.) I saw signs that read "Make America Think Again," "Make America Kind Again," "Chin Up, Claws Out," "Never Again," "The Most Disrespected Person in America is the Black Woman," "Hex the Patriarchy," and "Mike Pence Likes Nickelback." I was not expecting the people on Beacon Street who hung out their windows with pride flags or political banners or just cheered and waved as the march went by. The Arlington Street Church gets major props not only for its bubble machine, but for the woman dressed as Betsy Ross waving a thirteen-starred American flag from the front steps and whoever was up in the bell tower ringing out national anthems. A woman about my mother's age whom Rush had seen earlier in the march had parked herself out front of the church with her sign that read "I Can't Believe I Still Have to Protest This Shit." People chanted, "This is what democracy looks like." People chanted, "Black Lives Matter." We saw signs for trans lives, queer lives, women's lives, Muslim lives, immigrant lives. "Love, not hate, makes America great." A young man with dreadlocks and no shirt on came past us carrying a sign that read "I am half-naked and surrounded by the opposite sex and I feel safe." A young white man stood on the sidewalk with a sign declaring "I am using my privilege for good" and we cheered him even though he had spelled "privilege" with a "d."
In keeping with the great tradition of mass public turnouts, we did not expect to run into G. (the mother of my ungodchild) and therefore I turned around to get a picture of a sign and there she was with her Episcopal priest's collar, carrying a sign of her own. We did not meet up with a single other person we knew was attending.
Fox was magnificent throughout. They cried only when hungry (and at the very end of the march when overstimulated, which everyone around them could sympathize with) and the absolute worst this required was for me to barge into a Bolocco on Boylston Street and ask the cashier if I could take some water out of the soda fountain to mix a three-month-old's formula with. She handed me a cup for free.
I got home andderspatchel informed me the numbers are currently estimated at 120–125,000, the organizers having planned for 25,000. We are going out now to celebrate his birthday at Mamaleh's and then I am going to avoid all humanity for a little while.
Cats get a pass, though.
This was good.
I knew we were starting late in the day. My cousins had a prior commitment in the morning, so we met up briefly in Harvard Square before
gaudior peeled off to spend the rest of the day working with people who really needed support after the inauguration; rushthatspeaks and I got to Boston Common with Fox in their baby sling (and a well-stocked diaper bag over my shoulder) around two in the afternoon. We had already seen a host of people with pink pussy hats and protest signs streaming backward over the Longfellow Bridge and boarding the Red Line at Charles/MGH; we figured that if we had missed the march proper, at least we could be present for the speeches and the singing and be counted as part of the collective demonstration that way. There seemed to be a large number of people still standing on the hillside as we walked up from Park Street. It would still be worth it.We had not missed the march proper. Due to the number of protesters—three times greater than expected, I heard a woman saying afterward—they were marching in shifts. We were just in time to wait for the next round. Even more people were arriving as we waited near the bandstand, gradually shifting into a column with a generally agreed direction to face in rather than an uncertain mass with variegated signs and mutual photo-taking. There was a singer-songwriter named Emeline who closed her set with an unreleased song about refusing erasure and a whomping riot of brass and jazz from Somerville's own Second Line Social Aid and Pleasure Society Brass Band and the Boston Area Brigade of Activist Musicians (or BABAM!). I saw one protester waving a pride flag from a tree. I took a picture of Rush-That-Speaks and Fox and they took one of me, after I had pushed my hat back enough that my face didn't disappear. And then the crowd started moving in a more or less concerted direction and then we were marching.
I took a lot of pictures. Partly to capture the size of the crowd, mostly for signs I thought were especially excellent, though I couldn't catch them all. The route was something like a mile, around part of the Common and the Boston Public Gardens with a loop up and back the first block of Comm. Ave.; there were route police at intersections where anyone might get confused, but also schoolbuses and recycling trucks courtesy of the City of Boston to provide guiding borders on either side. There was a good range of ages. There was a good mix of genders and ethnicities. There were people with visible disabilities. I saw signs in English, Spanish, Arabic, Hebrew, Chinese. There were fife-and-drum musicians marching under a banner that read "Remember the Ladies—Abigail Adams, 1776," playing "The Battle Cry of Freedom," "The Minstrel Boy," and "Solidarity Forever." (Technically it could have been "John Brown's Body/The Battle Hymn of the Republic," but the people around us were singing "Solidarity Forever," so I took their word for it.) I saw signs that read "Make America Think Again," "Make America Kind Again," "Chin Up, Claws Out," "Never Again," "The Most Disrespected Person in America is the Black Woman," "Hex the Patriarchy," and "Mike Pence Likes Nickelback." I was not expecting the people on Beacon Street who hung out their windows with pride flags or political banners or just cheered and waved as the march went by. The Arlington Street Church gets major props not only for its bubble machine, but for the woman dressed as Betsy Ross waving a thirteen-starred American flag from the front steps and whoever was up in the bell tower ringing out national anthems. A woman about my mother's age whom Rush had seen earlier in the march had parked herself out front of the church with her sign that read "I Can't Believe I Still Have to Protest This Shit." People chanted, "This is what democracy looks like." People chanted, "Black Lives Matter." We saw signs for trans lives, queer lives, women's lives, Muslim lives, immigrant lives. "Love, not hate, makes America great." A young man with dreadlocks and no shirt on came past us carrying a sign that read "I am half-naked and surrounded by the opposite sex and I feel safe." A young white man stood on the sidewalk with a sign declaring "I am using my privilege for good" and we cheered him even though he had spelled "privilege" with a "d."
In keeping with the great tradition of mass public turnouts, we did not expect to run into G. (the mother of my ungodchild) and therefore I turned around to get a picture of a sign and there she was with her Episcopal priest's collar, carrying a sign of her own. We did not meet up with a single other person we knew was attending.
Fox was magnificent throughout. They cried only when hungry (and at the very end of the march when overstimulated, which everyone around them could sympathize with) and the absolute worst this required was for me to barge into a Bolocco on Boylston Street and ask the cashier if I could take some water out of the soda fountain to mix a three-month-old's formula with. She handed me a cup for free.
I got home and
derspatchel informed me the numbers are currently estimated at 120–125,000, the organizers having planned for 25,000. We are going out now to celebrate his birthday at Mamaleh's and then I am going to avoid all humanity for a little while.Cats get a pass, though.
This was good.
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We got there close to 12, and we only managed to hit the pavement for marching at 3, and by that time, we were utterly fried, so took off toward the Longfellow Bridge. The bottleneck at the Common gate was a nightmare for people with claustrophobia. We had a kind of minimarch across the Longfellow, with cars beeping and waving at us. I kept my sign up for the whole of the bridge.
Goddamn was it amazing.
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NICE!
We had a kind of minimarch across the Longfellow, with cars beeping and waving at us. I kept my sign up for the whole of the bridge.
That is excellent. I am glad people responded that way.
Goddamn was it amazing.
It really was. It was good to know who's out there.
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I know that signs and slogans change very little by themselves, but if the tidal wave of people who turned out for these protests can hold on to even a little of this energy and turn it into action over the four years to come, that will be something. It was good not to feel alone.
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Everyone I know was feeling so demoralized and hopeless. And it's going to be a long long four years. If we can start off with this big a bang, that's a lot of psychological and spiritual fuel.
-- I know you found that actual Emma Goldman quote that "if I can't dance...." is based on, but the actual quote's better -- was it in a comment? I was looking because I wanted to quote it too, but can't find it.
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Yes. And hold together. And gather even more people the next time.
-- I know you found that actual Emma Goldman quote that "if I can't dance...." is based on, but the actual quote's better -- was it in a comment? I was looking because I wanted to quote it too, but can't find it.
I spammed
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-- AWESOME, DANKE
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Thank you! I think we need all we can get.
Nice icon.
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TBD carried "Don't Be Mean" and friend had "Be Kind" (which we made for him). They had many photos taken of them. I had "You Are Not Alone" and Janni "Rise Up".
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This seems to be a constant. It makes me really happy. I hope it doesn't dissipate.
TBD carried "Don't Be Mean" and friend had "Be Kind" (which we made for him). They had many photos taken of them. I had "You Are Not Alone" and Janni "Rise Up".
Those are very good signs.
The knowledge of not being alone is very, very useful.
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Dang, that was fun. I only ran into my UU folks and no one else I knew, myself. And when I went by Arlington Street, they were playing We Shall Overcome. (Which we will.)
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I really enjoyed walking in a crowd with people who were sharing information. I don't mean that ironically. People would say things to one another. It was nice.
(And several people speculating, correctly, that it was likely more.)
Up to 175,000 now, according to the Globe. There were more people waiting with signs as we were leaving. We were wondering what time the marching would actually stop.
Dang, that was fun. I only ran into my UU folks and no one else I knew, myself. And when I went by Arlington Street, they were playing We Shall Overcome. (Which we will.)
Excellent! (Yes.)
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There were several kids in front of us in Star Wars gear with "Women belong in the resistance" slogans over a lovely color photo of Carrie Fisher as Princess Leia.
I ran into a friend at my march, which was entirely unexpected, but she was with someone with a guitar, so they caught my eye and I went over and said hello.
I am glad that you and Rush, and especially Fox had a good mat march.
Solidarity!
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That's very cool. I assume some of them were adaptations of online slogans.
There were several kids in front of us in Star Wars gear with "Women belong in the resistance" slogans over a lovely color photo of Carrie Fisher as Princess Leia.
Yes! We had some of those. I got a picture of one. (I am going to faceplant first and post pictures tomorrow.)
I ran into a friend at my march, which was entirely unexpected, but she was with someone with a guitar, so they caught my eye and I went over and said hello.
What were they singing? We mostly had chants and percussion.
Solidarity!
Forever!
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Good!
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Nine
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Fox has gotten off to a flying start as an activist.
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Nine
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I got the set from
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Make America Knit Again.
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You're welcome! This is the kind of thing I want a record of.