Summer Brennan is a journalist and author based in New York City.
I'll be honest: I was nervous about attending the Women's March on Saturday. I was worried that the mood would somehow be counter to my own frame of mind, which, in the runup to inauguration, was a strange double helix of black despair and radical hope. I wasn't sure how that would play out in a sea of pink knit hats.
I didn't have a pink knit hat of my own, mostly because I had misunderstood them due to the name 'Pussyhat,' imagined something more frankly anatomical, and deemed it not quite my style. Also, I had an irrational fear that something terrible would happen – that there would be violence or a spontaneous outbreak of incurable plague. After all, Donald Trump would be President, and any number of horrible things seemed possible. I had planned to go to D.C., and then cancelled, and then regretted that I'd cancelled, and regretted that although I would be marching in New York City, I would be doing so without a pink knit hat.
In the end, all my worries were for naught. I settled for a pink scarf and got on the train. Immediately, I saw women and girls as young as two years old wearing pink and holding signs: Women's Rights Are Human Rights, read one sign. Me And My Mom Love EVERYONE, read another. How could I have ever doubted that I belonged with these people? It was as if all the negativity of the Internet was immediately washed away, and I remembered how I felt when I first clicked "yes" on a Facebook invitation to attend the Women's March: Fed up, determined to be heard and not caring at all what anyone else thought.
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Grand Central Station was crowded with people from all walks of city life. I've never seen it so packed. My friend and I tried to exit onto 42nd Street and found ourselves hemmed in with thousands of the most considerate protesters I have ever witnessed. We ended up marching – or rather, shuffling, due to the immense crowd – for several hours, and not once was I jostled. The signs were classic (Our Lives Begin To End The Day We Become Silent About The Things That Matter –MLK), clever (Hell Hath No Fury Like 57 Million Women Scorned) and to the point (IMPEACH TRUMP). We chanted: This is what democracy looks like! Nobody approached the women carrying Hillary signs to opine that a different Democratic candidate might have won. It was as if hundreds of thousands of women – and millions worldwide – had asked, "Do I matter?" And the answer was, at least for an afternoon: "yes, you do."
The police presence at the New York City march was minimal, and what there was seemed relaxed and friendly. One officer was offering fist bumps to the passing crowd; another thanked people for coming as they exited the parade route. I later saw a photo from the D.C. march of a male police officer smiling and holding up a sign that read: This is what a feminist looks like.
And just like the roiling online negativity that had nearly spoiled my views of the march leading up to it, that same online negativity was there to greet me when I got home and turned on my computer. The march routes in San Francisco, Oakland, Los Angeles and Vancouver were still thronged with people when pundits on Twitter started cautioning that the march would "mean nothing" if the events of the day were not turned into concrete action. It's true that this was only a warmup. But for many, it was the first time practising what Yale history professor Timothy Snyder calls "corporeal politics." He writes:
"Power wants your body softening in your chair and your emotions dissipating on the screen. Get outside. Put your body in unfamiliar places with unfamiliar people. Make new friends and march with them."
Whether this was a refresher course in protest or a maiden voyage, millions of people from across the globe showed the world that they were willing to put their bodies on the line to oppose our new President. This in itself is an accomplishment. Like a lot of things, it all felt a lot simpler in real life, away from the glow of small screens. Let's be comforted by this display of solidarity with women, even as we get ready to plan our next moves.