Protests

"Here we are again," said a woman who was 16 when Roe v. Wade was codified into law in 1972, echoing a sign I saw at the Million Women's March in 2017. Eight years later we are older and a bit more frayed around the edges. This time rather than traveling to Washington, DC to protest, I traveled one town away to Trenton, NJ for the closest Not My Presidents Day event.

As I walked up to an event, a woman behind me stumbled on the uneven sidewalk. I immediately saw her surrounded by half a dozen people wanting to help her back to her feet. Reminded me that that is the world I want to live in, not the one we feel like we are heading to at the moment.

It was 30 degrees out with 60 mph winds, but the sun was shining! We gathered at Veterans Park across the street from the State House on State Street in Trenton. Dedicated in 2008 to World War II soldiers, Veterans Park still feels brand-new. I've been near it, but this was my first time walking in the paved park. I was struck by the statues such as Lady Victory, but for me, the most moving was of a helmet resting on a rifle. I should go back and read the names of those who served.

Yesterday, the park was filled with 500 protesters holding signs and chanting. It felt as if we were doing something. More somethings are in the plans, including designating February 28 as Buy Nothing Day, March 14 as Do Not Work Day, and others.

There were hastily scrawled signs, signs that were works of art, and signs that were mass produced in honor of LGBTQ+ youth and handed out to those who did not bring their own signs. 

Though there was a 20-something woman with green hair talking into a megaphone as she wove through the crowd with a purple-haired contemporary holding the electronics, it did not feel as if there was a leader. During pauses, people chimed in with chants to repeat. My favorite chant was HAY HAY HO HO, ELON MUSK MUST GO. That one seemed to go on for a while. Some were more complicated, taking a while to work from their origin to my ears. It felt organic. All of our voices matter.

I saw pink pussy hats, which reminded me to dig mine out for the next protest. We know there will be another one.

Then there was the dissent. "They should have a drum to keep the beat." "Ooo....they shouldn't say THAT [Free Palestine], it is too divisive." "We should all carry the same signs." "We need to be more unified." "TRANS LIVES MATTER, what about the rest of us? We matter, too." Ugh. To which I said, feel free to organize your own event. 

I noticed most of the people were in my demographic: suburban. White. Over 50. I did see a few Black, and a couple of Asian, people. I mentioned the protest to my girl afterwards. She said she works in Trenton and did not know about it. We must figure out how to reach others. While there are few people out there happy with the change in government, there are many more who are not. They are the ones we need to include.

Five hundred people turned in weather that is more conducive to staying home in PJs than it is to being outside. I counted my blessings that this area was protected from the wind, making it easy to latch onto the warmth of the moment. Walking back to the car, though, was a challenge. 

It was a great next step in the fight.