It's been two and a half years now since I attended the March in DC on behalf of women and all humans. Depending on who I am dialoguing with, learning from, reading, or listening to, my feelings about my attendance at that grand event have been of the up-and-down variety. I know nobody is perfect. We all see through a glass darkly. And the times, they are a' changin'. We're in a state of constant flux, both personally and politically.
At the time of the March, I wasn't motivated to attend. But thank God we have supporters around us, who for their own reasons, prod us towards a higher goal that we ourselves absorb in the light of our own thoughts and perceptions. My mother and sister badly wanted to protest. I, on the other hand, was ambivalent about Trump's election. I am ambivalent about all politicians–Politics is often referred to as "Hollywood for ugly people." And Hillary and Trump both seemed brash to me–opportunistic, competitive, baiting, and striving. I know that's how you have to be when you're aiming for the top position in the country, so I usually just keep my mouth shut. 'Don't complain' has always been my mantra in a personal sense. I guess it had carried over to my politics as well.
We were all of us different in the March. And I spoke to many who were in town for the inauguration, who were at least a little pleased to see Trump had been elected, and who I believe also wanted the best for their country. One sweet woman I met on the the night before the March saw me as a political convert, believed after our short conversation that I was in the wrong place. That I had been misled. That I didn't want to be there. We had a wonderful conversation and she prayed for me, which is something I don't object to. Maybe because we had a connection, and I empathized with her point of view, she could only experience me as a lost soul. She was certainly a nice lady. I know she seemed mystified as I walked away with my only family, as we continued on with our plans. But she didn't really know me, nor I her.
My father attended the March and I also went to the inauguration with him. It was the only chance he would ever have to see a President sworn into office. He was very emotional about it. During the inauguration itself, the huge lawn was packed with both kind souls and what I can only describe as putrid consciences. I experienced both a lack of judgment on the part of the presumably conservative women in my immediate vicinity (who knew I would be marching the next day), and ugly remarks and calls about Michelle Obama, Hillary, and Charles Schumer by others as they entered the stage. There was clapping and hooting, booing and hissing. It was raucous. I didn't hate being there. It was an experience. The whole trip to DC was an experience. I clapped for Trump, just as I clapped for Schumer and Michelle. I loved the color blue on Melania.
And what of the March itself? Not a raucous event at all, totally peaceful although there were times I was claustrophobic as the crowd flowed and moved like water waves with its own will. Like the will of the people, the March was a fluid thing. There were times I kept my mouth shut and objected to the chants. Shouting "SHAME!" while moving past the Trump Hotel was not something I wished to participate in. I did not know the man. I did not understand his motivations. All I had seen of his point of view was through the distant, detached, mechanical voice of Twitter. My sign read, "Trade Trump 2020", hashtag "beauty matters". We marched past the Bikers for Trump who vigilantly guarded the edges of the wave of people. They were peaceful. Behind me was a physically challenged girl who was maybe 10 or 11 years old. She marched on crutches. Her family consented to my dad taking a brief video of her, and he becomes emotional every time he shares with friends and family the photos and videos of our experience in DC. We all get tearful when we remember the event through the eyes of that girl.
Nobody is perfect. And no political essay can be perfect. And no action taken is perfect. That's how I viewed the whole event–both the inauguration and the March. Everybody was there for a different reason, and the time itself was exhilarating. I had zero bad experiences or encounters. We were all encountering a new President, and we were in the moment, which is the best way to be.
I haven't been paying attention to the all the recent developments in the Russia investigation. I try to get my hands on media that represents both sides of all world events, but I only become more confused by the day. I have to remind myself that's normal. That we see through a glass darkly. I have to tell you though, one of my biggest concerns is environmental. There were plenty of families there that day, so I could never describe the event as anti-family. My own family marched, and each member had a different perspective. My mom cared about healthcare.
What's my point? Well, it's that the will of the people is an absurd thing. A flowing, ever changing thing. Trump is looking guiltier by the day. Of obstruction of justice, if nothing else. I still think he should be traded in, but I can't exactly tell you why.