Just days after the presidential election, my mother, sister and I decided to attend the just-announced Women's March on Washington. It was initially somewhat of a symbolic gesture to fulfill the need to do something -- anything, really -- to help ensure that women's voices would be heard during the next administration.
For the next several weeks, we pored over the logistics. Bus or train? Should we stay over the night before or drive in that morning? What would our signs say? While perhaps necessary for any trip, these decisions gave us purpose in an otherwise confusing time. As the plans for the March continued to grow and gain more publicity, we were even more emboldened as the countdown to the inauguration continued.
My mom and I left Friday morning from Hartford, Connecticut and picked up my sister, Erin, in Jersey City, New Jersey. What should have been just a few more hours to Baltimore took more than eight, as the Delaware Bridge was closed in addition to the already very heavy traffic. We listened to Donald J. Trump being sworn in as our 45th President on the radio in the car.
It was raining and damp early Saturday morning in Baltimore, where we had stayed the night. We were on little sleep after our late arrival, and the reality of our new administration had started to set in. The line for the light rail heading into Washington D.C. wrapped around the block -- an inspiring sea of thousands of women in pink, but a group that was ultimately fighting for the few available spots on the train.
For a brief moment, it looked like we might not make it to the march. Frustrated, but not deterred, we did what anyone would do in 2017 -- we sighed loudly about the cost and got an Uber.
Convinced the gridlock traffic would mean several more hours in the car, we were quiet and sullen as we climbed in. Our driver was a man from Ghana, who gave us the needed reminder of exactly why we were there in the first place.
When we told him we were going to the march, his voice perked up: "That's what I love about this country," he said. "If there's something you feel is wrong, you make your voices heard and fight for what you believe in."
In his native country, he explained, protests are few and far between, and people generally accept things as the way they are. His simple but important words reminded us of just how great the country that we're fighting for really is, and how we have the power to make it better.
When we finally arrived in D.C., we were feeling ready to take on the world. And we weren't alone -- hundreds of thousands of people poured onto the streets. Once we got to the National Mall, the energy was palpable. It didn't just feel like a rally, it felt like a revolution.
While the official march wasn't supposed to start for several hours, huge crowds were already chanting and gathered together with signs, bullhorns and tons of pink hats. It was like nothing I have ever seen before.
It was so crowded that we couldn't get anywhere near the stage or even hear the speakers for most of the event. But by not being able to hear, we instead got to meet and converse with others in attendance around us. While everyone seemed to have different priorities, from health care and racial justice to protection for immigrants and wage equality, it was clear that each person understood we were stronger as a unified force.
As the afternoon went on, we squished and squeezed our way to an area where we could see a screen and hear speeches toward the end of the program. Each speaker we were able to hear was incredible, but Janelle Monáe easily provided the most moving moment of the day. Inviting the mothers of Trayvon Martin, Eric Garner, Dontre Hamilton, Mohamed Bah and Jordan Davis to join her on stage, she did a shout-and-respond with the audience. As the mothers shared the names of their slain children, the hundreds of thousands of marchers yelled back "Say his name."
It felt like a crucial moment to show that the mission of the "Black Lives Matter" movement is, and need to be, the mission for anyone who believes in equality and fairness -- Monáe's speech hopefully opened the eyes and ears of those who hadn't considered that before. Several people around us wiped away tears at the end of her performance.
After the speeches ended, and despite earlier news reports that the crowd was too large to do so, we began our march. Across the Mall and onto Pennsylvania Avenue towards the White House, women of all races, ethnicities, religions, sexual orientations and tax brackets walked and chanted together as one. To be standing in between my mom, an immigrant who came to this country to make her dreams come true, and my sister, who works tirelessly every day to ensure housing for all people, and surrounded by so many like-minded women from all walks of life was an honor that I will never forget.
Despite a handful of very vocal resisters of the march yelling and gesturing at the crowds, we joyously continued, even breaking into a "We love you" chant directed at one of them. As we continued to move forward, the future felt more hopeful with every step. We're in this together, and we'll not only get through this together, but we'll make our country better in the process.
As my family and I made the slow trek out of D.C. on Saturday night, we looked with pride at online pictures of marches from all over the world. In between images of masses of people in Prague and Austin, Texas, we saw a small group of women in Accra, Ghana, standing in solidarity with us in this country, seemingly unwilling to accept things the way they are.
Revolution is contagious.