Is there anybody here who thinks that following the orders takes away the blame?
I got a little sleep, but mostly I got to a protest. ![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
gaudior and Fox picked me up, with nineweaving in the car as far as Lechmere; we did not make it to City Hall Plaza in time to march, but we made it to Boston Common in time to rally. It was brutally hot. There were crowds of protesters in front of the stage and then clusters of protesters underneath the trees, showing off their signs—for families, for immigrants, against fascism, for justice—and doing their best not to combust. I wore my grandmother's sun hat so as not to get burned. (I have no idea how old this hat is. It accompanies almost all my summer memories of my grandmother; it was more or less retired on her death in 1997, in the years since then mostly decorating a plaster bust of my mother which my grandmother sculpted when my mother was in her teens. It is made of very pale tightly woven straw now somewhat brittle and still has a small tag inside the high crown reading "Made in Ecuador." It occurs to me that it may be a Panama hat.) We listened to speeches and music and Gaudior found their mother in the crowd and I found a_reasonable_man and his family and Fox ran around and I took photos of signs and did not think to ask anyone to take a photo of me and my hat. After the rally broke up, Gaudior and family headed for Frog Pond and I headed for the subway, because I had a dinner engagement with selkie and Rami and my godchild and friends of theirs who live in Arlington; their hotel room had air conditioning and we got takeout dinner from Not Your Average Joe's and regular updates on the evening's baseball game from the pair of eight-year-olds who had been allowed to watch TV in the bedroom while the adults discussed synagogue politics and queer Regency smut. My godchild lives in the D.C. area and I see them every couple of years now and it matters very much to me that they leap onto me for a hug and want me to pick them up and swing them around and give them a piggyback ride; they have the energy to spare since they are basically a Diane Duane white hole that just looks like a leggy juvenile goalie, but I am glad to be trusted by them. I do not like the thought anyone causing them grief. So we protest. May we back it up at the polls in November.
For the last day of Pride month,spatch sent me a link to the origin story of Paud's Pins – a queer history project. Anything you recognize, add your voice to. The rest of the year is not silent.
gaudior and Fox picked me up, with nineweaving in the car as far as Lechmere; we did not make it to City Hall Plaza in time to march, but we made it to Boston Common in time to rally. It was brutally hot. There were crowds of protesters in front of the stage and then clusters of protesters underneath the trees, showing off their signs—for families, for immigrants, against fascism, for justice—and doing their best not to combust. I wore my grandmother's sun hat so as not to get burned. (I have no idea how old this hat is. It accompanies almost all my summer memories of my grandmother; it was more or less retired on her death in 1997, in the years since then mostly decorating a plaster bust of my mother which my grandmother sculpted when my mother was in her teens. It is made of very pale tightly woven straw now somewhat brittle and still has a small tag inside the high crown reading "Made in Ecuador." It occurs to me that it may be a Panama hat.) We listened to speeches and music and Gaudior found their mother in the crowd and I found a_reasonable_man and his family and Fox ran around and I took photos of signs and did not think to ask anyone to take a photo of me and my hat. After the rally broke up, Gaudior and family headed for Frog Pond and I headed for the subway, because I had a dinner engagement with selkie and Rami and my godchild and friends of theirs who live in Arlington; their hotel room had air conditioning and we got takeout dinner from Not Your Average Joe's and regular updates on the evening's baseball game from the pair of eight-year-olds who had been allowed to watch TV in the bedroom while the adults discussed synagogue politics and queer Regency smut. My godchild lives in the D.C. area and I see them every couple of years now and it matters very much to me that they leap onto me for a hug and want me to pick them up and swing them around and give them a piggyback ride; they have the energy to spare since they are basically a Diane Duane white hole that just looks like a leggy juvenile goalie, but I am glad to be trusted by them. I do not like the thought anyone causing them grief. So we protest. May we back it up at the polls in November.For the last day of Pride month,
spatch sent me a link to the origin story of Paud's Pins – a queer history project. Anything you recognize, add your voice to. The rest of the year is not silent.
protest
Re: protest
Yes. Or the people detained in the desert. I don't usually appreciate the climate's sense of timing, but this was on point.
It was heartening to see many people staying so long despite the heat; and it was good to hear speakers make connections between the crisis caused by the zero tolerance policy and Supreme Court decision upholding the travel ban.
It was a good rally. I don't like having to have them, but if so, then they should go well.