I have a feeling it will be equally relevant in 2018 to demonstrate a repudiation of institutional misogyny and remind the progressive majority of America that women are the largest oppressed population in our nation and around the world. Let’s plan on it. (Actually, I’m hearing buzz now that a weekly march might be in order. Not a bad idea.)
When my wife and I took our kids to the women’s march yesterday, it was the third time we have demonstrated our distress over the President and the objectives of the GOP at large. The first time, we were leaving my daughter’s ballet class in the Loop and as we crossed the street, the first post-election Trump protest was pouring by us at State and Randolph chanting, “Whose streets? Our streets,” and I thought to myself, “damn right” so my wife and I agreed silently to join them in their northward march to the new president-elect’s namesake building on the north side of the Chicago River.
The second time was a few days later, I think, and we joined after another ballet class and a quick romp at Maggie Daley Park. We attached safety pins to our coats and stroller (at this time, cynics hadn’t yet attempted to corrupt this innocent and sincere gesture of solidarity). First we wept a little, overwhelmed, then we chanted – Eloise too.
To prepare for the women’s march, Eloise stayed up late making her sign. Hers is obviously the best:
Proof that Salma Rose was with us too:
This was Lu’s first concept for a protest sign. She’s sticking her tongue out at Trump, here labeled “BUT” while Michelle and I stand there, mouths agape, very surprised by her behavior.
The weather was good, the vibe was great, the footage was excellent, and the message was sent. The challenge now is to stay engaged, spirited, and hopeful.