Why I march:It’s not about me

So, when I went to the Woman’s March on Washington, I wore what is commonly referred to as a “race bib” with my reasons for marching written on it. When I marched again in Fayetteville, Arkansas last weekend, I marched for the same reasons as last year, and an infinite list of new ones, as I have learned more over the last year.

With keen interest, I have perused coverage of this year’s marches, and again, I have seen the comments and responses by other women who do not understand asking why—asking what rights we don’t have that we are trying to get. Many of us who march, or simply speak out for what we believe is right are dumbfounded when we see and hear this kind of commentary. I know I can never imagine that these women have never had the experience of being discriminated against, or being treated inappropriately simply because of their gender. And it pains me that even if that happens to be the case, that they somehow don’t understand why having our own rights means that we should leave behind those who do not.

It also frustrates me that media outlets so frequently seem to run across that one person who either cannot articulate their reasons for speaking out, or one of many who choose to treat the importance of speaking out and marching as a novelty event.

You see, I am a white, middle class woman of privilege. I live a relatively safe and comfortable life. There have been moments in which that wasn’t the case, but on a day-to-day basis, I don’t have too much to worry about. That being said, I cannot in my heart look beyond myself, and not see the suffering and unfairness around me. I just don’t find it possible to ignore that the American Dream is not accessible to all Americans. And just as importantly, I cannot ignore our larger role in the world beyond our borders, and the way we impact the freedoms and circumstances of others everyday.
I have been sharing reasons why I march and speak out in my social media circles today. I doubt anyone who judges those of us who march as fools will find these issues of value, but again, marching and speaking out isn’t solely about me. It’s about justice, fairness, compassion, and doing what is right by others.


In the last year, hate crimes against minorities and members of the LGBTQ community have been at an all time high. Many Good and decent people who have lived in our country and contributed to making it great are in fear, because they came here as children with parents who circumvented legal channels. Black and brown people continue to be profiled, targeted, and killed by law enforcement, even if they have been cooperative. Muslims and Sikhs have been targeted by ignorant and hateful individuals who have been given the impression that anyone wearing a turban or a head scarf is a terrorist. Twenty-seven transgendered Americans were murdered last year, simply for being transgendered. Of those killed, 26 were people of color.

These issues are just a drop in the proverbial bucket. There seems to be an endless river of hatefulness flowing through our country—especially in the last two to three years.

We continue to see mass shootings in schools, public places and events, and we continue to see a government, owned by the National Rifle Association, refuse to act in a reasonable and rational way to restrict or eliminate access to assault weapons, and large ammunition magazines. We continue to see the healthcare of our citizens under threat because our politicians are also bought and paid for by big pharmaceutical corporations and insurance companies. Big oil money pays for our leadership to completely set aside scientific consensus that we are destroying our planet, and leaving a far more dangerous environment for our children through climate change. We live an unsustainable existence which harms humanity all over the world.

Yes, women have come a long way. Our marching predecessors fought and won us the right to vote. Many women were involved in the abolitionist cause, and in the Civil Rights Movement. We can wear pants to school—something my mother wasn’t allowed to do as a girl. We can work outside of the home, and own property. There have been many strides. But we have so much further to go in achieving equality, and some of the strides we have made are in danger of reversal.

Women’s reproductive choices are under threat—again. And when we talk about choice, it’s about so much more than abortion. Women’s fair and equal access to contraceptives is at risk. Maternity care coverage as a mandate is under threat. The idea that men or people who have differing beliefs about women’s reproductive choices shouldn’t have to support equality of care is ridiculous. The idea that healthcare for women should cost more than healthcare for men is a slap in the face to the equal rights so many say we have. I do not hear the same outrage about insurance companies covering the cost of medications for erectile dysfunction, and the care associated with men’s reproductive organs. And yes, we do march to protect a woman’s right to choose her reproductive path—not because abortion is the right choice for everyone, but because no one should be forced to have decisions made about their bodies by others.

We have seen some glimmers of possible change in the last year. We are starting to see that victims of sexual harassment, misconduct and assault may finally be able to come forward and not have their claims brushed aside by law enforcement and the media. It’s conceivable that the next generation of boys may be raised with the knowledge that girls and women can do anything they can, and that “no” means “no,” and more importantly the absence of consent also means no. We may be starting to see that the culture of looking the other way makes you a complicit accomplice when a predator has been abusing, harassing and assaulting for years. Perhaps one day, when a woman is abused or assaulted, no one will talk about what she was wearing. There is a long, long way to go, and these are truly just glimmers. There is still great disparity in sentences of white male perpetrators of sexual violence, and the sentences of men of color. Many women never receive the justice they deserve at all, or the compassion, and care that they need to recover.

Income and wealth disparity is crushing the middle class, and making the American Dream unreachable. The poor get poorer. Our seniors are still having to make tough financial choices at a time they shouldn’t have to worry about anything. We have veterans who have fought to protect our rights, and keep us safe, living on the streets, and suffering without appropriate healthcare.

There are so many more reasons why we march. And none of them are about me. And that’s the point. Caring about the greatness of our nation isn’t a slogan on a ball cap. It shouldn’t be partisan. I may be a white, middle class woman of privilege, but as an American, I don’t believe I have the privilege of taking what I have for granted, or sitting on the sidelines while people without those same privileges struggle and continue to suffer.

It’s not about me.

Marching Orders: We aren’t even nearly there yet.

I have felt a lot of guilt over the last seven months. I may not have fully understood the purpose of my marching journey at the time, but every day since then, I have been learning and processing the reality that it was never meant to be about the healing that I needed. Not being able to follow through with more activism has gnawed at me, and made me feel like I am, once again, not doing my part to right wrongs. I am sure that I am not the only one who has felt that over the course of the last year.

So, this time, a year ago, I was on a bus with 53 other would-be Arkansan marchers. It had been a long day, and we were still hours from our stopping point for the night. We would only be able to sleep for a few hours before getting right back on the bus to finish our journey to Washington, D.C.

At the time, I was on that bus because my broken and angry heart needed some kind of closure for what felt like the incomprehensible loss of reason and decency in my country. Reeling from the sheer exhaustion of a daylong ride in a cramped bus, and all of the questionable dietary choices along the way, I started to realize the weight of our purpose.

A year later, I feel like I am still only at the beginning of that realization.

I understand that the hours I spent on that bus, and then marching with a sea of other people never truly came to a conclusion. I understand that many of us who were first time marchers arrived in the middle of a march that had already been led by others for generations, and will likely continue forever. I am aware that I was late in my arrival, that I didn’t fully comprehend my own motivation, and that I didn’t know enough about the journeys of those who came before, and those who had experienced true suffering in our nation. I understand that for many, the reason and decency I was only now feeling the loss of, had been absent from the lives of so many others around me, and so many who had come and gone before.

I don’t know if that qualifies me as “woke,” or if I will ever earn the right to be dignified with that honor. No, I am not looking for a pat on the back, or a cookie. I just feel deeply that I want to understand, and I want to do better everyday.

A friend of mine recently described me as being a person who “oozes compassion.” I take that as a compliment in a world where it is so easy to get caught up in self and in your own problems. When I see the pain of others, I just cannot shut it out. I cannot just go about my day, living my semi-charmed life.

One thing a gathering of like-spirited people can do is to light a fire within us for purpose. I know that happened to me last year. And I use “like-spirited” instead of “like-minded,” because I believe that caring about the hurts and wrongs done to others, and in our country, runs so much deeper to our cores than the simple intellectualization of right and wrong.

Iknow I changed. I think many others did as well. But I know there is so much further to go.

In the year since the Woman’s March, we have seen more women than ever emerge as candidates for political office. We have seen people of color, and people from the LGBTQ Community lead campaigns to victory. We have seen hopeful glimmers of a sea change in the way our society treats women who report crimes of sexual misconduct, harassment and assault.

And it’s true, we have seen many terrible things as well. We have seen the masks and hoods lifted from those who previously tried to conceal their racism and bigotry. We have seen a rise in hate crimes against minorities, immigrants, Muslims, and members of the LGBTQ community. We have seen the truth behind the lie of “family values” voters who would cast a ballot for a pedophile, but still decry the dangers of a trans woman urinating in the bathroom stall next to them.

We have also seen our country dragged through the swamp of corruption, likely treasonous activity, embarrassing ignorance at all levels, pettiness, and lies. We have watched our leadership do what many of us expected—give huge benefits to corporations and the wealthy at the expense of average Americans, especially the working poor whites who voted for them. We have watched the dismantling of institutions and protections for the environment. We have seen voting rights diminished. The list seems almost endless.

One day of marching didn’t stop terrible things from happening. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if it only took one day to fix everything that is so broken? But the many souls who have marched throughout history, and who have been marching all their lives know something we tender-footed first-time marchers are only starting to learn.

One march is a single step—a drop in the bucket—of what must be a lifelong path of rising up for each other. And our march cannot end with us. It’s true—there may be times when we must sit on the sidelines, and simply cheer others on. And that is why we have to pass the flame of hope and perseverance to anyone who can and will carry it forward. The March is long. The stakes are high. It cannot be walked by one person.

It was always meant to be walked together.