22 January 2017

nineweaving: (Default)
I don't ever march—I'm a vote-and-donation sort of person—but as the gentleman of our party's board neatly proclaimed:

Not Usually a Sign Guy, But Come On Now!

I met [personal profile] teenybuffalo  and a Somervillian party on the platform at Davis at ten, and waiting for them, watched a Niagara of pink surge down the stairs.  The Red Line was packed like tribbles in Tokyo, and the doors sliced our group in two—part of it ended up going out to Alewife, just to get a car to come in on.  Mid-car on the underground, we chanced on a congenial soul, a omni-capable-looking—you'd want her on your school board or in scrubs in the ER—woman of color in a Siberian tiger hat, and she and Teeny (in a long scarlet coat and low top hat, with a Bread & Roses sign) burst into song, and all of us anchovies joined in on "This Land Is Your Land" and "If I Had a Hammer."  That was totally swell.

Our snake re-united at Charles/MGH.

We couldn't get onto the Common, or hear much more of the speeches than fragments and roars——sounds like Elizabeth Warren gave 'em hell.  We stood on Charles Street, forty-deep, for close to two hours, waiting cheerfully for the man in the safety-orange bobble hat to wave us on—which meant that when the marching started, we were near the front, and stepped out with éclat, all round the Public Garden, up Commonwealth and back.  As we passed the first garbage truck marking the way, we chanted, "Public Works!  Public Works!"  And we sang!  "Roll the Old Chariot Along" with improvised verses ("A bit of human rights wouldn't do us any harm") and "What Shall We Do With the Nasty Woman?" ("Put her in the House and in the Senate.")

Sights and sounds:  people on balconies with rainbow flags; a pussy hat on the statue of William Ellery Channing; what looked like the mingled casts of Hair and Hamilton drawn up on the steps of the Arlington Street Church with a bubble machine, and a revolutionary rocking out in the bell tower; a pair of immaculately cool suffragists.  It was a gloriously fine day, which was part of why we marched:  the magnolias shouldn't be budding in January.

The only person I ran into by chance was a Parisian-born postdoc and trans activist who used to live in my building.

Some signs:

The Young Are At The Gates

Tweet All People With Respect

Build Bridges Not Walls

several longer passages from John Quincy Adams ("JQ!  JQ!"):  "The Manners of Women, are the surest Criterion by which to determine whether a Republican Government is practicable, in a Nation or not" and "Nip the shoots of arbitrary power in the bud, is the only maxim which can ever preserve the liberties of any people."

With Malice Toward None, With Charity To All

Dear World, We Are One Family, With Love, America

Immigrants Are America

I'm With Her (with omni-directional arrows)

I'm With Her (with the Statue of Liberty)

Grab Him by the Putin

Plato Was Right

Witches, We Need You

When They Go Low, We Go High (hand-crayoned by the young girl who bore it)

No Human Being Is Illegal

We Are Rising

You Have No Idea What You Have Unleashed

History Has Its Eyes On Us

Our Bodies, Our Minds, Our Power

Trump, Putin's Tiny Whiny Bitch

Our Rights Are Not Up for Grabs

Science Matters

I Will Not Go Quietly Back to the 1950s

Emperor Trump Is Not Wearing Clothes

Trump Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things

Hello, Highchair Narcissist

Make America Kind Again

Make America Think Again

Love Trumps Hate

Now Is the Time to Get Our Panties All in a Bunch (panty-shaped)

Keep Your Rosaries Off of My Ovaries

We Shall Overcomb

(and one small neat sign, yellow on black)

This Is Very Bad

When we got back to Charles/MGH, four or five hours later, there on the platform was our psychopomp—what else could she be?—the woman in the Siberian tiger hat.  I left them all singing down the line.

This march is dedicated to my grandfox.


Postscript:  marches on every continent (yes, Antarctica).

PPS:  175,000 marched, which is impressive, given the size of the city.    New York is estimating 400,000, and Chicago (which was too crowded to actually march), 250,000.  I know that people were coming from way out, but using the cities' official populations as a benchmark, just under 5% of New York and 10% of Chicago marched—and over 25% of Boston.

nineweaving: (Default)
Of a women's choir singing Ethel Smyth's "The March of the Women." Thomas Beecham visited the old warrior in Holloway Prison and reported that he found the activists in the courtyard "...marching round it and singing lustily their war-chant while the composer, beaming approbation from an overlooking upper window, beat time in almost Bacchic frenzy with a toothbrush."

This group is doing it properly!


nineweaving: (Default)
As promised, many many pictures of the march.  (Open with care.  This is huge.) 

...and friend with friend )



nineweaving: (Default)

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