#WomensMarch

Yesterday, I participated in  the Women’s March on Washington – the Las Vegas edition. There were a lot of people at the Vegas march but not hundreds of thousands like in D.C. or L.A.  Hundreds for sure, thousands without doubt – but not those two words together. Authorities estimated that it might have been between four to six thousand. That’s not too bad considering political events have to compete with everything else there is to do in Sin City. I mean there’s bets to be made, addictions to be maintained. Right?  Even  the local news story on the Women’s March had to compete with the “Naked knife-wielding man fatally shot by officer,” story. But hey, that’s Vegas.

 

It may not have been a large crowd but it was an earnest crowd. Prior to the beginning of the march we were advised that this was to be a peaceful event. No engaging with any potential opposition persons and no arguing amongst ourselves. In other words, “stay mellow.” This edict was followed by both the marchers and the marchers’ supervisors. That is to say, when some of the crowd spilled over onto a part of Las Vegas Blvd that had not been closed off to participants, instead of the police getting grouchy,  they “stayed mellow” and shut down that portion of Las Vegas Blvd. too. The crowd cheered in appreciation.

 

For some people, this was their first protest march. It was not, however, my first protest march. Back in the 70s I marched in several anti-Vietnam war demonstrations/peace marches. Back then, it wasn’t signs and cell phones that we brought with us. It was the following:

1. Bandanas soaked in vinegar (lest the way less mellow 1970’s cops blasted us with tear gas)
2. Flowers and incense (so the world could see how peaceful we were)
3. Tambourines and recorders. (so the world could hear how peaceful we were)

Also, in the 80s and 90s, in San Francisco and Alameda, California, I marched in  Gay Pride Parades. Those parades were part protest, part party. I usually marched behind the Dykes on Bikes and otherwise entertained myself by staring at all the men wearing dresses and excessive makeup. (It was new to me back then, okay – don’t judge me!) There was no tear gas fears at those Pride parades. Not because it wasn’t taken seriously, but because we were just serious in a different, gay way. The marchers blew kisses and threw condoms to the crowd. Good times.

 

But yesterday’s march was about a revolution.

And it was about Americans (mostly women Americans) trying to retake control of their lives after it had been so nastily yanked away on November 8th of last year. No one can completely explain how this happened. Perhaps, some say, it was because of the FBI or Russia. Others postulated that it was because the citizens had become so complacent about their hard fought, years-to-achieve rights, that they didn’t even bother to vote. That’s a hard one to swallow. Maybe it was a combination.

But either way, everyone had to admit that the #OrangeDictator was now in charge. And that was painful, if not downright Xanax inducing.

After the march, there were a ton of speakers. Politicians, religious leaders, and community activists. They pled with us to “not take this lying down.” They told us our voice counted. They said, “Today is the first day of the campaign for 2018.”

 

Even my rabbi from Congregation P’nai Tikvah was there. Rabbi Yocheved Mintz, who came to the march despite the fact that it was Shabbat, told us to “stay involved,” and “pray with our feet.”

Overall, I thought the march and ensuing speakers were very uplifting. Inspiring even.  I’m very happy I went. I’m glad I showed up to the beginning of this new revolution. I hope it will  lead to the ultimate taking down of the illegitimate #OrangeDictator. I hope it will make all citizens never to become so complacent about their hard fought, years-to-achieve civil rights, that they don’t even bother to vote.

Hope? Wasn’t that the word we used to describe the last guy. Miss him.