I’ve marched before but this time was different

This time it was personal.

It became even more personal when on my way to the march a man approached me as I was making my way through the Underground carrying my placard. Genial enough at first he asked me what protest I was making my way to. It became apparent that he already knew.

A few steps after I answered he launched into homophobic, misogynist rant that, while it did not quite intimidate me, left me wondering why he felt it was necessary.

Why did he approach me when he clearly already knew why I was there? And why me when there were plenty of other people walking through the underground carrying placards (although unlike me, they were in groups, not alone – explanation provided, perhaps)?

His rant was intense and bizarre in equal measure, starting with the assertion that we had to make a choice between “John Wayne type leaders…real men”, or having “some nancy-boy who’s probably going to bring AIDS into the house”.

As he followed me up through the tunnels and up the escalator he continued that male serial killers in America were murdering women because they had “bossy mothers” or were “sick of women nagging and telling them what to do”. Apparently mass murder is the fault of womankind too.

Just like watching Trump’s inauguration, it felt like a spoof of right-vs-left-wing politics, when the right-wing are stupid/ mad and bad, and yet somehow manage to outsmart the left-wing good-but-ineffectual guys.

I was shocked, tongue-tied, and frustratingly impotent in my efforts to force out a “fuck off” – for some reason I couldn’t bring myself to be rude to this walking, talking definition of bigot.

It felt tempting to dismiss him as “crazy” – he didn’t look mad, but then, what does mental illness look like? – but then I remembered that millions of people have just legitimised similar (perhaps marginally less extreme) views to these, by electing men equally bold about sharing them, to the most powerful seat in the entire world.

And it intensified my certainty that I was in exactly the right place.

I was marching for equal pay; because I feel insulted by the idea of a man who has bragged about sexual assault becoming the most powerful man in the world; because, like many women, I know what it feels like to be heckled, grabbed and groped, followed by aggression when the violation is not welcomed.

grab-this

I was marching because I feel frustrated and personally limited by the relative status and expectations afforded men and women in our society.

I was marching because I wanted to say enough – as much to myself, as to anyone else – to give myself permission to be pissed off.

And I was marching because as parents we are programmed to want better for our children. I’ll be damned if my daughter is going to live her life the same way I have, with insidious limitations papered over with a veneer of “Having it all”, only for them to leap up and takes chunks out of our certainty when we start to make demands.

But in answer to anyone thinking, but he’s not your President, not your country, isn’t this a little pointless, I also marched in solidarity.

Because I am unlikely to ever fail to access an abortion, or birth control, does this mean I should not care about the women who can’t?

Because I was born in a body that matches the gender I identify with, does this mean I should not care about the people for whom this is not reality?

Because I love a man, not a woman, does this mean I should ignore the struggles of those who love differently to me?

And because I have white skin,  does this mean I shouldn’t acknowledge the unearned privilege that this carries with it? Shouldn’t I recognise the even greater struggles that people, particularly women, of colour have to face? Battles that carry even greater resonance because they will be my son’s and my daughter’s.

I’ve marched before on behalf of a passionate, desolate profession, beaten down and desperate about their working conditions and the prospects for the children they taught. But I’ve never marched before from a place of such deep-seated fear for the futures of people I don’t know, don’t love, but who I care about, because they are people.

As the crowds swelled, so did the lump in my throat.

The coming together of people with a common cause has always had the power to move me, but the energy felt sharper, brighter, and more certain of its justness than I have ever felt before.

One hundred thousand men and women marched in London alone, and behind them lie many more wishing them well and that they could have joined. And we wake up this Sunday full of optimism and empowerment that joy, beauty and togetherness were found yesterday in a world that feels so full of hate and division.

That greatest of human comforters was out in full-force yesterday – we are not alone.

Even so, the truth is that we also wake up to the reality that the occasion is over and nothing has changed – nothing has really been achieved.

To see the long road ahead, the reams of progress that must be made, it is tempting to wonder if it is worth it? Is it really necessary? Can I really care so much, for so long? But whenever I feel like this, I look at my children.

My beautiful brown boy and girl exist because of the tireless actions of people that have come before us, and those who continue that fight right up to today.

Things change. When it is right, they have to.

And as if I needed that reminder yesterday, my favourite memory was the young girls and boys, some barely teenagers, waving their signs, chanting and singing.

Their presence provoked the loudest cheers and chanting I heard at any point in the march as their youth bouyed us up with their promise of a different future.

I’m only 36 but already I can see we are too late for now, for us.

But we keep on keeping on because they are the future and we must not let them down.

One thought on “I’ve marched before but this time was different

  1. Interesting that he chose ‘John Wayne’. Or as he was ‘born’ – ‘Marion’ Mitchell Morrison. Hopefully your ‘passing acquaintance’ is not a ‘serial killer’ in the making.

    Why did he approach you? Bully? Coward? Nutter? Possibly all three? And some other problems as well?

    If, by chance, he reads this – I would be interested in debating his point of view.

    Although you don’t mention this gentleman’s apparent age, I suspect that he is a little younger than I am?

    Nevertheless, as the child of a generation of women in this country who undertook the roles of ‘real men’ during WWII and the proud holder of a ‘HM Armed Forces Veterans Badge’, I never cease to be amazed at the idiocy of such people.

    Surely the contribution of womankind in that period and the fact that they now undertake the most hazardous of duties alongside ‘real men’ should dispel all thoughts of women being, in any way, less deserving than ‘real men’?

    Thank goodness that members of the younger generation joined you!

    Good luck. Keep up the fight for true equality. Ignore the idiots, bigots, sexists, cowards, bullies and nutters!
    But please, to you and those who think and act like you – do be careful – the cowards, bullies and nutters are possibly unstable and who knows what they may do?

    Liked by 1 person

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