Valerie slipped on her green gown, placed the crown on her head, and the entire bus broke into spontaneous song:
“O beautiful for spacious skies, for amber waves of grain…”
It’s been more than 40 years since my last protest rally but here I was, on one of three buses organized by the Moshannon Group Sierra Club, headed for Saturday’s Women’s March in Washington, D.C.
What a day.
We had Metro SmarTrip cards but didn’t use them. The lines were too long. We walked 2.5 miles from the bus parking lot at RFK Stadium to the Capitol Building. It was an unseasonably warm day for January. The calendar juxtaposition of Martin Luther King Day earlier in the week made the hike an inspirational treasure. Black yard signs with MLK quotes in white sprouted from townhouse gardens, side by side with blooming forsythia and pansies, as we walked up East Capitol Street SE, the crowds growing ever thicker.
I had three bus buddies to stay with, an Impeach the Tweet sign swinging from my neck by a Christmas ribbon, a clear, plastic bag in the crook of my arm, and camera in my jacket pocket.
Oh, the people, the pink hats, and the posters! We didn’t march. We flowed (with a few logjams). Our foursome never got close enough to see the stage or hear the speakers. We saw the Washington Monument peak from the fog and knew with the crowd congestion we would never make it to The White House.
One of the crowd-control volunteers started shouting:
Bus Buddies
“Repeat after me.”
Crowd: “Repeat after me.”
“Amplify.”
Crowd: “Amplify.”
“Say it twice.”
Crowd: “Say it twice.”
“Say it twice.”
Crowd: “Say it twice.”
“March on the sidewalk.”
Crowd: “March on the sidewalk.”
“March on the sidewalk.”
Crowd: “March on the sidewalk.”
“Medical,” the woman bellowed, pointing to the area below her platform.
Crowd: “Medical,” we repeated, pointing to the area.
“Medical.”
Crowd “Medical.”
“Patience.”
Crowd: “Patience.”
“Patience.”
Crowd: “Patience.”
It was a fascinating lesson in crowd communication. And speaking of communication, the Women’s March proved the power of words.
One of my personal favorites was hand-written on white poster board:
“We are half of the world and gave birth to the rest.”
Another poster proved the power of no words:
“OMG GOP WTF”
A third sign proved the power of foreign words:
“Nyet means Nyet.”
Another proved the power of inclusive but far-reaching words:
“Global Warming is a Real Threat
My Muslim Neighbors Are Not”
A fifth proved the power of simple words:
“Make America Kind Again”
By 3:30 p.m., we decided to start our trek back to the bus. The crowd, though pleasant and peaceful, was exhausting. On the way to the bus we were welcomed by volunteers at the William Penn House, inviting us in for a bathroom stop (as well as tea, coffee, hot chocolate, and snacks). As another visitor said, “There’s nothing like a Quaker toilet.” They suggested we leave our protest signs with them. They are going to make a collage of signs and take photographs, capturing the multitude of messages. As we left, I picked up leaflet with more words: March Today. Lobby Tomorrow!
We continued down East Capitol Street, thanking police officers managing crosswalks and volunteers encouraging us as we headed toward our bus, exhausted. We watched dogs romping in the park, parents pushing strollers, and residents waving from their front stoops.
My feet were sore but my spirit was soaring. I know this day is more than a moment—it is a movement. Laurie Lynch
Written on a Yard Sign: “Our lives begin to end the day we become silent about things that matter.” Martin Luther King Jr.
The thing about baristas, as my dad would have said, is they are smart cookies. Or biscotti. Or scones.
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